


Further From the Sky

by roebling



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Idols, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Angst, Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gun Violence, Heist, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Police Officer Min Yoongi | Suga, Slow Burn, Smoking, Violence, check chapter notes for content warning, hidden identities, non canon ages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-05-14 22:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 107,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14778374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling/pseuds/roebling
Summary: Officer Min Yoongi knows his boss hates him, but it’s never been more clear than when he gets his latest assignment: go under cover as an idol trainee and figure out the truth behind Golden Calf Entertainment. He’s determined to crack the case, but first he needs to survive dance practice led by star trainee and Grade A asshole Park Jimin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It has been a long and wild ride writing this story. I first plotted it out with [mintea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintea/pseuds/mintea) over a year ago!! and have been writing or revising it pretty constantly since November. It’s by far the longest and most plot-intensive thing I’ve ever written, and really took me out of my comfort zone. It’s been a challenging and fun experience writing this and I’m excited to finally share it :) 
> 
> This story has 18 chapters and is complete, but to facilitate ease of reading and to give me a bit more time to refine the later chapters I’m going to be updating once a week or so until it's all posted :) 
> 
> I think the tags adequately communicate the content that might need to be warned for, but as always if there’s something you think is missing I would appreciate it if you could politely let me know. There are a few chapters where I’ll add specific content warnings in the chapter notes, so please make sure to read those. 
> 
> It goes without saying that I know very little about the Korean law enforcement or criminal justice systems. I’ve tried to inform this fic with some research but I hope anyone who does know more will forgive me my inaccuracies. 
> 
> The inspiration for this story came from a ton of difference places but I would be remiss not mentioning the really excellent drama 38사기동대 (starring one of my very favorite actors Seo Inguk!). It’s one of my favorites and influenced this fic so much. I really recommend you check it out! The title comes from Agust D’s So Far Away :) 
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH to Di, Jay, and Coral for their excellent advice and reassurance, and thank you a hundred million times over to Mi for helping me at every step of the way and listening to my unending whining lol. This story wouldn’t exist without you ♡♡♡

In eight years of service, Officer Min Yoongi of the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency hasn’t exactly distinguished himself. He’s never cracked any long-unsolved cases. He’s never done anything to get himself on the front page of any newspaper. He didn’t become a cop so he could be some kind of fucking action hero. He shows up (mostly) on time and rarely calls out sick. He follows the rules and keeps a low profile and does what he’s asked to do. 

That’s it.

But back when he’d been a rookie the world hadn’t seemed quite as gray and dry as it does now and Yoongi had still been a little in awe of his chosen career. He’d spent too many nights watching Namjoon’s imported box set of the first three seasons of Law & Order: Special Victim Unit. Yoongi never believed he could be as dedicated as Stabler or as passionate as Benson, but back then he’d still thought he might end up doing some goddamn good. He remembers how excited he’d been the first time he got asked to go on a stakeout. There was something almost romantic about dressing in street clothes and sitting in a shitty anonymous car, drinking too many cups of coffee and bullshitting with his partner to pass the time. Cigarette smoke drifting out of the cracked window. Ducking into the convenience store to piss. Waiting with knife edge nerves for the suspect to finally appear. 

That was then, though. Six years can wear a guy down. Now he thinks stakeouts are a big fucking waste of time. 

Nothing ever happens with cinematic clarity and meaning. If their suspect does show up, everything is messier and faster and more confused than it would be in a movie. More than once he’s tried to jump out of the car only to find he’s left the door locked. More often than not, nobody shows up at all. Bad tip from an informant, someone in Records mistyping the address, suspects who seemed far smarter than the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency -– whatever the reason, it seems like most of the time the only thing he has to show for a stakeout is a sore back. 

He sighs and shifts in his seat. He's not a big guy by any measure but even he gets cramped in these tin cans after a while. He rolls down the window a little more and exhales a mouthful of smoke. It's a bad habit – cancer sticks helped bring his old man down, didn’t they? He keeps meaning to quit. Maybe next year.

His phone pings and he glances down. New message from Namjoon, who wants to meet up for drinks.

_Working now. Let you know later._

He and Namjoon have been trying to make plans for weeks, but Yoongi keeps bailing because he's an asshole. He knows he should go out tonight, have a few beers, whatever. Namjoon will let him complain about work and he can hear all of the exciting, glamorous things Namjoon gets to do as a hotshot producer and star-maker.

Yoongi is just so tired lately. Fucking six hours staking out a parking spot for what? Nothing important – just some sop to the Superintendent’s over-inflated ego. Month after month of this bullshit is starting to make him feel like he's being slowly ground to dust under some crushing wheel. God. Interminable days doing fucking paperwork and then he goes home, drinks a few beers, and passes out on his couch. What a life. Is it any wonder he doesn't want to meet up with Namjoon? Yoongi is fucking ashamed.

He takes another drag on his cigarette and turns to the window to exhale. And oh shit! Shit! He almost missed his mark because he's moping like some kind of prepubescent sad sack instead of paying attention.

He jams his half-smoked cigarette into the overflowing ashtray and struggles with the door. Fucking thing won't open.

"Hey! Hey! Don't fucking move!" 

He pulls on the handle again, so hard he thinks the cheap thing might break. What is wrong with this car? Oh. Fuck. Locked again. He unlocks it and shoves it open, half stumbling in his haste to get out.

In the prize parking spot, the one right beside the front door that is clearly identified as reserved, a be-helmeted person of indistinct description is parking their moped. An insulated red box covered in colorful slogans is strapped to the back. From this the perp takes a order of fried chicken, bag already shiny with oil at the corners, bearing the logo of the Superintendent's favorite chicken shop.

Yoongi, panting, runs across the parking lot. Shit. He's really got to give up smoking. He's got a stitch in his side that he clutches as he approaches the offender.

"Hey," he gasps. "Hey you! What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

The delivery person slowly pulls off his ... her helmet. She shakes out her long hair and fixes Yoongi with a cold stare. She's younger than he is – maybe early twenties – and kind of pretty but the expression on her face is bored and a little mean.

"Who the fuck are you, ahjussi? You want some chicken? Call and order your own!"

She turns to go and he grabs her by the wrist. That is a mistake, he realizes instantly.

Eyes wide and furious, she slaps him hard, the flat of her hand against his cheek. It fucking hurts, and he hunches over. Eyes watering, he reaches in his pocket for his badge.

"If you take one more step, I'm gonna have to arrest you," he says. It comes out as pitiful, winded gasp.

She looks back at him scowling, but then sees the badge and makes some effort to put a more conciliatory expression on her face. Barely. Rolling her eyes, she asks, "What can I help you with, officer?"

Yoongi closes his eyes tight. Fuck. He feels like such an idiot. He takes a deep breath. "I have to inform you that you are currently parked in the designated and reserved parking spot of Superintendent Intak Shim of the Gwangjin Division of the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency. If you do not move your vehicle immediately, I will be forced to take action, including but not limited to impoundment, citation, and the maximum fines allowable by law."

He ends in a half-audible mumble, staring at his feet. When he looks up, she is glaring at him with a supremely disdainful expression on her face.

"Shit," she says. "You have to be kidding me."

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut again. "Do I look like I'm fucking kidding? Move your goddamn bike."

Malevolence rises from her in waves. Cursing under her breath, she wheels her bike a few dozen meters down to another spot. Not even deigning to look in his direction, she grabs her delivery and stalks towards the front door.

Yoongi feels a headache coming on. He opens the door of his car, drops heavily into the front seat, and slams the door shut behind him.

Scrubbing his face with a hand, he lets his head fall back against the headrest. Fucking hell. Is this what he's been reduced to? Glorified parking attendant? 

The front door of the station opens with a bang. Yoongi looks up. His foe is stalking down the steps, shoving her helmet back onto her head. She jumps on her bike and backs out, catching sight of Yoongi as she does.

She flips up the hood of her helmet, mouths 'Fuck you', and gives him the finger before pulling out into the orderly chaos of midday Seoul traffic.

"Goddamn it," Yoongi says. He closes his eyes and reaches in his pocket for his phone. He pulls up Namjoon's message and hesitates a minute before typing.

_What time do you want to meet tonight?_

Namjoon's reply is a moment in coming. _Wow. Min Yoongi. You're actually gonna come hang out? Where do you want to go?_

_Don't care, as long as there's alcohol. Lots of it._

*****

"It's definitely going to bruise."

Namjoon leans closer. Yoongi gets a face full of stale, beery breath and shoves him away.

"It’s not gonna bruise," he mutters, but he leans forward and stares at himself in the concave back of a spoon. He grimaces at the distorted ogre Yoongi face reflected back at him. Four red welts stand out stark against his cheek. He presses his fingers to the spot and winces. "Fuck."

It's definitely going to bruise.

They’re at their favorite bar – kind of a dive honestly, but it’s conveniently located for all of them, even Namjoon, who bought a fancy new place south of the river after one of the shitty idol tracks he wrote and produced turned into last year’s big surprise hit.

Asshole. He deserves it, of course, but he’s still an asshole.

This place is nothing fancy, but they serve decent bar snacks and there are some pool tables and a dart board. They never play any music released after 2000, and the average client is about fifty.

Yoongi likes it here, as much as he likes it anywhere.

Namjoon grins. "Who’d you piss off, hyung?"

Yoongi sighs. "Someone was parked in the Superintendent's spot the other week when he got to the office and he got pissed so he’s been parking around back and made me sit out there and wait for ‘the suspect to return to the scene of the crime’. His words. I’ve been waiting there all week and nobody shows up until today. It was the fucking delivery girl from Chicken Baengi with _his_ goddamn lunch! I get out of the car to tell her to move her bike and she slapped me!"

Hoseok, sitting on the other side of Namjoon, nods ruminatively. "You've got this whole hangdog thing going on lately, hyung. Dark circles. You need a shave, too." He makes a vague gesture with one hand. "Maybe she thought you were a pervert. You need to cheer up. You should let me set you up on another date. I work with this really nice ..."

"No," Yoongi says. "No. Fuck. No. I am never going on another one of your blind dates again, Hoseok. Fuck. That last one? I had to listen to her talk about the laws for importing kiwi fruits for an hour. Who the hell does that?" He picks up his shot glass of soju and drains it, and then reaches for the bottle to pour himself another.

"Hey," Hoseok says, wagging a finger. "Eunyoung is awesome. She was working on a story about the international produce trade. She's intense. I thought you'd like that. I think she even won a prize for that story. Anyway, when I set you up with Minseok you said he had the personality of a dishrag.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. "Whatever," he says. It's not even like he wants to date anyway. Hoseok's just a persistent fucker with a seemingly endless supply of single colleagues. Yoongi had gotten sick of the nagging. "I don't need to go on a date. I just need to get taken off of desk duty."

Namjoon frowns. "Why don't you talk to the Superintendent again? I mean, the whole thing has pretty much blown over now."

Hoseok nods. “Yeah, and I mean, I don’t even get why it was such a big deal to begin with. It’s not like you did anything _wrong_.” 

Yoongi sighs more deeply still.

A few years ago, fresh faced and eager (okay, exaggeration, but as fresh faced and eager as he’s ever been), Yoongi had gotten a promotion to senior inspector. This hadn’t been the result of any particular effort on his part; he’d simply done his time and followed the rules and been next in line for a promotion. He’d gotten reassigned away from his old station to a new posting and had to get to know a whole new set of annoying coworkers. 

He’d noticed pretty quickly that something was fishy in his new station. The Superintendent had been a young man, handsome in a coarse way and overbearing. One of those men who moved through life convinced he was always in the right. Yoongi saw how the Superintendent sent the junior inspectors out on personal errands: to drop off his uniforms at the dry cleaners, to the market to get fresh seafood for his wife, to pick his daughter up after school and drive her, lights and sirens blaring, to her academy for lessons. 

It was wrong, is the thing. There are explicit rules about the use of official vehicles in the Agency handbook, and Superintendent Jo Jinyoung had flouted them with shocking brazenness. 

Yoongi had ignored it for a while, but it ate at him that the brown-nosing assholes who enabled the Superintendent’s worst transgressions got the best assignments. It wasn’t _fair_. It wasn’t _right_. They were supposed to uphold the law. How could they do that when they couldn’t even follow their own rules? 

It sounds now like the complaint of a very young and very stupid man. At the time, though, the injustice had bubbled up inside of him until it had boiled over, and he’d submitted a formal written complaint to the Internal Ethics Board. 

It wasn’t some huge scandal. It didn’t even get into the press, as far as he knows. There was a quiet investigation at the end of which Superintendent Jo Jinyoung was demoted and a few sternly worded pan-agency memos were circulated reminding everyone about the guidelines for the proper use of agency vehicles. A slap on the wrist. 

How could they punish Jo when such corruption was commonplace? They all did it: every last crooked officer stretched the rules as far as they could. 

Yoongi’s complaint had one more consequence: a few months later he was reassigned from Jo’s station to a new posting in Gwangjin. It wasn’t a demotion, even though he was just a regular Inspector again. It wasn’t a demotion, but the powers that be were worried that he wasn’t going to be able to function in his old post, in light of _circumstances_. They didn’t want him to suffer from discrimination, and they thought the best way to avoid it would be to let him start fresh somewhere new. 

Except Superintendent Jo Jinyoung had been the personal protégé of Superintendent Shim Intak of Gwangjin Station. 

No demotion _his ass_. 

So much for doing the _right thing_. Yoongi has wised up now and doesn’t complain about anything anymore, but Shim is still intent on taking his pound of Yoongi’s flesh. 

"He hates me," Yoongi says, grumpily. "Thinks I'm a troublemaker. Fuck. I'm gonna be getting him coffee and babysitting his parking spot until I the day I die."

Namjoon shakes his head. "Hyung, just tell him you’re sorry and you’ve learned your lesson and ask him if he’ll let you get back to bringing down the bad guys."

Yoongi rolls his eyes. "I don’t want to bring down the bad guys. I'm not a fucking superhero, Namjoon."

Hoseok laughs. "But you'd look so cute in tights and a cape, hyung. One of the guys at work is having a Halloween party at this place in Itaewon. You should definitely dress up and come!"

He reaches a hand out to ruffle Yoongi's hair and Yoongi bats it away. "Cut it out. I'm not going to any stupid Halloween party."

He goes to pour himself another drink. It takes him a moment to realize the bottle's empty.

Can't even pour a drink right. Yoongi sighs and lays his head down on his folded arms.

Namjoon puts a consoling hand on his shoulder. "It'll be okay, hyung. I know how much you believe in what you do."

Yoongi closes his eyes. Goddamn Namjoon and his fucking optimism.

"I believe," Yoongi says, voice already a little slurred. "I want another fucking drink."

*****

"Chief is looking for you."

"Eh?" Yoongi looks up, alarmed. He's a half hour late to work, and his head is killing him.

Yungsoo smiles placidly at him over the divider that separates their two desks. He's an older guy, around the age Yoongi’s father would have been, and he's worked in Gwangjin station since before Yoongi was born. He’s got two daughters in high school, a wife who owns a nail salon, and is an enthusiastic fan of the Lotte Giants. There are a dozen orange and black pennants hung up over his desk. He's a nice enough guy and all, but Yoongi doesn't really have too much in common with him.

"Minjoon came around earlier," Yungsoo says in his slow, calm way. "Said Superintendent Shim needed to talk to you. I told him I'd let you know when you got in.” He frowns. "That's a pretty nasty bruise, Yoongi. What happened?"

"Pissed off a perp," Yoongi mutters under his breath. “Fuck.” He sits down and pulls open his desk drawer. It's a muddle of pens, paper clips, packets of sauce from to-go orders... everything except what he wants. Way in the back of the drawer he finds his bottle of aspirin. He can't get the safety cap off. He struggles, and then finally it comes off with a pop. Pills scatter all over his desk. "Shit."

He takes two and swallows them dry. He'll clean the rest up later.

Normally, Yoongi takes the long way to Shim’s office, going through the break room and around the copiers. It’s stupid, but it lets him avoid the desk of Lee Dokwang, the current darling of Gwangjin Station. He’s already late now, though, and he doesn’t dare risk pissing off Shim more than he already has, so he steels himself and, head held high, walks right down the aisle between the two rows of cubicles. 

Lee, whose desk is at the very end of the row near the window, looks up as Yoongi approaches. He’s a strikingly handsome guy a year younger than Yoongi who by all accounts is the very picture of a skilled and dedicated officer. While he was at the National Police University, he set all kinds of records that still stand and he volunteers on the weekends at an orphanage. Everyone says Lee is marked for great things and whisper about how he’s Shim’s _hand-chosen_ successor. 

Like his benefactor Shim, Lee is also a huge asshole. 

“Injured in the line of duty, Officer Min?” he asks as Yoongi passes his desk, which is neat as a pin and devoid of any personal effects. Lee’s hair is glossy and perfectly parted, and every button on his uniform gleams.

“Huh?” Yoongi blinks tiredly. He hadn’t even had time for coffee, and he feels barely sentient. 

Lee gestures at his own razor-sharp cheekbone.

Oh. Right. 

“It’s nothing,” Yoongi mutters.

Lee smirks. “Those delivery girls from Chicken Baengi are ferocious. I’m surprised you made it out with your life.” 

Of course the story has spread.

Yoongi makes a rude gesture at Lee. 

He can hear Lee and his cronies laughing still as he rounds the corner to the Superintendent’s office. Shim’s secretary, Minjoon, is diligently typing away as Yoongi approaches. He's a nice kid just out of college who always has fresh flowers on his desk. He once told Yoongi at an office party that he’d wanted to be a landscape painter, but his mother had insisted on the civil service. Yoongi hadn’t confessed that he too had once harbored artistic aspirations, but he’d thought about it. They might be friends, if Yoongi bothered making any friends here.

"Hey Minjoon," he says. “Good morning.”

Minjoon glances up and then smiles. "Ah hyung. Yungsoo passed along the message?"

Yoongi nods.

Minjoon's cheerful smile fades. "What happened to your..." He gestures vaguely at his face.

Yoongi closes his eyes. "Don't want to talk about it," he mumbles. "Is he free now?"

"Let me check," Minjoon says. He picks up his phone. "Hello, sir? Yes... Yes. I haven't heard back from him yet, Sir." A pause. "Sir, Officer Min is here to speak to you. Yes. No. Yes." Another pause. "Okay, Sir. I'll send him in."

Minjoon hangs up the phone and leans forward conspiratorially. Yoongi frowns and ducks closer.

"He's in a pretty bad mood," Minjoon whispers. "Good luck."

"Oh great," Yoongi says, under his breath. He braces himself and opens the door to the office of Superintendent Shim Intak.

Superintendent Shim frowns at Yoongi from beneath his bushy, graying eyebrows. He is a large, solid man of advanced years, gone a little to seed now but still strong and powerfully built. He has worked in Gwangjin Police station since time immemorial and been chief for twenty years at least. There is nothing he resents more than outside interference in the workings of his little fiefdom.

Yoongi still doesn’t know if his reassignment to Gwangjin was orchestrated by Shim as a way to extract revenge for what Yoongi had done to his favorite, or if he’d been foisted on Shim as a punishment of some kind. Either way, Shim has made it his mission to make Yoongi's life just a little bit more miserable every day.

"Good morning, Superintendent," Yoongi says, forcing a smile on his face. "How are you today?"

"Officer Min. Nice of you to join us," Shim says. “Did you sleep well? Get plenty of rest?”

Yoongi winces. He hasn’t been great about getting into the office on time lately, and Shim has already warned him about it. He hadn’t _meant_ to drink so much last night, but Namjoon had been buying and the numb dizzy oblivion of alcohol had been so preferable to anything real in Yoongi’s life.

Before Yoongi can apologize for his tardiness, Shim growls, “Sit,” and gestures at the chair across from his desk. His desk is a Gwangjin legend. It’s huge, made of one massive slab of some dark, expensive wood. Supposedly he took it from the office of a notorious local gangster he’d brought down years before. It’s very shiny and absolutely bare. Yoongi doesn't think he's ever seen as much as a piece of paper on it. Minjoon says he has to polish it three times a week with special imported wax.

"Sir," Yoongi says, sitting. "You wanted to see me?"

Shim nods. It's an abbreviated gesture, like he's worried he might show a little too much enthusiasm if he nods all the way. "How long have you been with us, Officer Min?"

Yoongi pretends to take a moment to think about it. "Two years, sir."

"And you've been restricted to desk duty for most of that time, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

Shim leans back in his chair. "I heard that you found and confronted the delinquent who has been parking illegally in my reserved parking spot." He raises those bushy eyebrows slightly. They look like two fat caterpillars.

"Yes, sir," Yoongi says, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

"Not without some collateral damage, it appears." Shim’s expression betrays absolutely no amusement. Asshole.

Yoongi grinds his teeth. "Just a little bruise, sir," he mutters.

Shim nods in a self-important way. "Good," he says. "In light of your satisfactory performance, I've decided to give you a field assignment."

Yoongi's heart suddenly soars. A field assignment? He hadn't expected this at all. He figured he was just getting called in here to get reamed out again for not fucking ironing his shirt well enough or something equally inane. He smiles now, a genuine smile. "A field assignment, sir? That's great news."

Shim nods. "A very concerning matter has been brought to my attention by City Hall. I'm sure you're aware, being a young person yourself, that young people these days are all very taken with this singing and dancing business I see so much of on the television?"

Yoongi nods. He doesn't know where this is going, but his elation his dimming. "Yes, sir. A close friend of mine is a producer, actually."

"Exactly," Shim says. "All these kids think they're going to be the next Seo Taiji. Nonsense, I say. One of him was more than enough." He shakes his head. "Not surprisingly, given the superabundance of depraved and lawless scoundrels in the world, there are people looking to take advantage of these foolish children. The Fraud Investigation Unit has been on the trail of one of these groups for a while. They’re the usual sort – low-lives, gangsters, and thugs. I've gotten report that they've moved into our district." He snorts. "If any son of mine wanted to audition for an _entertainment company _, I'd make it clear he had better get that song and dance nonsense out of his head, but..."__

__He spreads his hands in silent protest at the degenerate parents and youth of today._ _

__"Our station has been given the directive to investigate and bring down the person or persons behind this operation." He makes a frustrated noise in his throat. "I personally don’t believe the case merits this much attention, but I have been told that because of the _sensitive identities_ of some of the individuals who got caught up in this scheme, we are to give it top priority. I’m sure you understand.” _ _

__Yoongi nods. Namjoon has told him about some of the shady ass shit that goes down in the entertainment business. Sounds like some rich spoiled son or daughter got taken in by some kind of scam or something. "I understand, sir," he says. "What do you need me to do?"_ _

__"Isn't it obvious, Officer Min? The only way that we can bring this group down is from the inside. You're going undercover."_ _

__A weird hot feeling crawls up Yoongi’s spine. "Under... cover?"_ _

__Superintendent Shim comes as close to smiling as Yoongi has ever seen him._ _

__"You're going to audition for this entertainment company, Officer Min. You’re going to be a trainee.”_ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick warning: in addition to everything in the tags I want to point out specifically that this chapter references the past deaths of two minor characters, namely Yoongi's parents.

"Fuck fuck fuck," Yoongi says. "I can't fucking believe this."

Namjoon laughs softly. "It's hilarious, hyung. And he's right, you can definitely pass for twenty."

Yoongi scowls at Namjoon. "Fuck you, asshole." He can't quite keep all the bitterness out of his voice, and Namjoon's face falls. Great. Now Yoongi is going to piss off the only fucking person willing to put up with his stupid whining. "Sorry," he mumbles. "I just can't believe he'd do this to me. Even for Shim, this is a low blow."

Namjoon's face softens. "Hey, it's probably not a personal slight, right? He needed someone to investigate who looked young enough. I mean, can you imagine Yungsoo singing and dancing.” He chuckles to himself. “And it's a field assignment! You're not going be stuck doing paperwork anymore. That’s what you want, right?”

"Lee should have done it. He’s younger, and he’s got the _movie star looks_ , doesn’t he?" Yoongi grumbles. But there’s no chance that precious Officer Lee would ever be asked to take such a demeaning assignment. "An idol trainee? How am I supposed to pull this off, Namjoon? I can't dance. I can't fucking sing."

"You can rap, though," Namjoon says gently.

"Oh great. Bring up my dark past, why don't you?" Yoongi exhales and rests his head on the bar. It's sticky with some unknown substance but he doesn't care. What’s the difference at this point? Maybe he’ll shave his head and renounce the material world and become a monk.

"Hey," Namjoon says, leaning forward. The neon lights in the window cast funny shadows on his face. "Hyung, it's nothing to be ashamed of. You were really good. You could have gotten signed if you'd stuck with it."

A long time ago – almost another lifetime it seems now – Yoongi had recorded a few tracks and posted them online. The reaction had been surprisingly good. He'd gotten talking to some people -– that’s how he’d met Namjoon, in fact – and performed at a few clubs, and had almost – just for a little while – thought about trying to follow that passion for music and see if he could make something of it.

"Eh," he says. "Doesn't even matter now."

Namjoon exhales. He's a patient guy, and this is as close to frustrated as Yoongi has ever seen him. "Why don't you just tell him you won't do it then?"

"If I turn this down I'm going to on phone duty for the rest of my life,” Yoongi mumbles. “There’s a lady that calls every single day to report a noise violation, Namjoon. She’s eighty years old and she keeps you on the phone for an hour, gossiping about all of her neighbors. Last time I got her, she told me she thought that the guy downstairs was having an affair with the woman upstairs. She told me all about it in graphic detail. I never met an old lady with such a vivid imagination. I thought I was going to have to issue her a citation for public lewdness.” 

Namjoon snorts, amused. He takes a long sip of his beer, draining the bottle, and then sits up a little taller. "Listen, hyung," he says. "I know this seems pretty dire but maybe it'll be okay. Have an open mind about it. If you do bust these guys, you're going to making it a little bit safer for all the kids out there to follow their dreams."

Yoongi is quiet for a moment. His ear is squished against the bar, and it hurts. "You idealistic fuck," he sighs, but there's no heat in it.

Namjoon claps him on the back and laughs. "I know," he says. "Can't help it. Listen, hyung, I need to be in the studio early tomorrow. I'm taking off. You're going to head home soon too, right?"

Yoongi makes a vague noise of assent.

"Alright," Namjoon says. "Fighting, Yoongi hyung!"

Yoongi closes his eyes and listens to the sound of Namjoon pushing his stool back, gathering his stuff, the jingle of the bells over the door as Namjoon leaves. The bar is too hot and a little noisy. He sits up. Some guys are playing pool in the corner, boisterous and jokey. The bartender glances over meaningfully to see if Yoongi needs another drink, but he waves the man off. He slaps a bill down on the bar to cover his tab and pulls on his jacket. The barman nods at him and Yoongi nods back. He's not quite a regular at this place, and they're not quite friends, but this is about as close as it gets for him these days.

Outside, the night air is brisk. He shoves his hands in his pockets. Seems like everywhere he looks there are happy people: a couple walking hand in hand, a girl in a red coat with a fluffy dog on a leash, a group of kids eating ramen in front of a convenience store, laughing and slurping their noodles.

A tiny flame of jealousy kindles in Yoongi's heart. It's terrible – what kind of asshole is jealous of middle schoolers? – and he's ashamed, but he can't help it.

On the subway, he stands motionless under the fluorescent lights. Everything seems washed out. He's so fucking tired. It's that familiar bone-deep weariness that has nothing to do with how much sleep he's gotten. He's given up so much and tried so hard to do the right thing, and in exchange, life has fucked him over. This latest indignation is like kicking a man when he’s down.

God fucking damn it. An idol trainee? Fuck. Fuck.

When the train gets to his station, he climbs the steps up to street level slowly. His neighborhood is quiet and residential. There's a convenience store on the corner where he stops a lot. The old man who runs it nods as he walks in. Yoongi grabs a few bottles of water, some kimbap, and some baked eggs. He drops his haul on the counter and then tells the old man, "A pack of Raisons too, please."

The man turns to get Yoongi's smokes. There's a poster on the wall behind him: six chipper kids with neon hair grinning maniacally at the camera and holding out little bottles of banana milk. They're wearing matching neon windbreakers and there's a slightly wall-eyed gleam in the eyes of the kid in the front that Yoongi doesn't like.

Goddamn idols. How is he ever going to do this?

*****

Yoongi shuts the door to Shim's office and closes his eyes for a moment. He was up too late the night before and his head is pounding. Two hours in the pressure cooker with Shim and a pair of officers from Intelligence going over the background information for this idol charade haven't helped matters. He needs some coffee. He nods at Minjoon as he makes his way over to the coffee pot. He hates the nasty burnt stuff that they make here, but it's going to have to cut it this morning. He needs... 

"Headed to dance practice?" 

Lee is standing directly in front of him, holding a stack of case files, blocking Yoongi's way. He smirks in that greasy way of his.

This fucker. Yoongi exhales. "Not yet," he says. "I have to pass the audition first." 

Dry. So dry. The only way to bring this idiot down a peg is to not care.

"I thought I had it wrong when I heard the Superintendent was reassigning you to a special investigation," Lee says. He's got this affected way of talking, almost a lisp. A cloud of spittle sprays into the air with each word. It's gross. "But I see why he picked you now, Officer Min. You need a clown to star in a circus, after all." 

Yoongi rolls his eyes. "You pay someone to write that line for you?" he mutters. 

Lee narrows his eyes in distaste. "What's wrong, Officer Min? I thought you'd be happy to get out of the station. Or – what? Afraid you can’t handle having to do some _real_ work for once.” 

Yoongi swallows. He knows better than to get into it with Lee. He knows better, and yet ... 

“Fuck you,” he mutters. “I do everything I’m asked.” 

“And there’s a reason you aren’t asked to do much.” Lee scowls. "You need to watch your mouth."

"I _need_ coffee," Yoongi mutters. "So, if you wouldn't mind getting out of my way ..." 

Lee sneers at him once more. This asshole seriously learned all his expressions from the most cliché drama villains. He shuffles his case folders and then stalks off towards his desk. 

What a joke. 

Yoongi pours himself a cup of bad coffee and adds a generous amount of creamer. He takes a sip and winces. Ugh. 

But it's caffeine. 

He heads back over to his own desk and drops heavily into his chair. The audition is in a week. Shim allocated him funds to purchase whatever materials needed to 'successfully infiltrate the target organization'. 

In other words, he needs to dress like a rich brat. 

Yoongi has a decent sense of style, but it's not like he has much occasion to wear anything other than his uniform, these days. He's going to need help. 

He texts Namjoon. 

_You busy tomorrow? I need to go shopping._

It takes a few minutes for him to get a reply. 

_Who is this and what have you done with Min Yoongi?_

Yoongi scowls. _Fuck you_

Then, a moment later. _Come on, Namjoon. I need your help. This is for work_

_You don't need to ask twice. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity!_

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut. Namjoon gets away with wearing crazy shit, but he’s also tall and rich and stylish. Yoongi’s going to look like an idiot.

Nothing new there, though. He sighs and puts away his phone. He’s got other things to worry about. In seven days’ time he’s going to have dance and rap and sing credibly enough to pass for a trainee. 

Shit. 

***** 

"Hoodies are _very_ cool," Yoongi says mulishly, pulling on the sleeve of a soft, black hooded sweatshirt that's very similar to but much more expensive than several he already owns. 

Namjoon shakes his head. "You need to dress more flashily for this, hyung. Lots of designer labels. Big jewelry. Maybe we should do something to your hair. You'd look good in green.” 

Yoongi tugs his knit cap down over his ears. "No," he says. "No way." 

Namjoon just laughs, delighted at Yoongi's horror. 

He turns away from the rack of comfortable, handsome sweatshirts towards a table stacked with tee shirts. In principle Yoongi has no problem with tee shirts but these are covered in ugly patterns of playing cards and lit cigarettes and dice. Namjoon sorts through the pile for a moment, apparently looking for the most hideous design. He holds up a lime green shirt covered in little pictures of red sports cards with scantily clad women lounging on the hood. 

"See," Namjoon says. "This is exactly the kind of thing you'd be wearing if you were twenty years old and wanted to seem like a rich badass." 

Yoongi frowns. "It's so ugly." 

"I know," Namjoon says, agreeing enthusiastically. "One of the kids from that group I was working with last week wore a _jumpsuit_ with this design. So. It could be worse." 

"Fuck," Yoongi mutters. "I'm not wearing a jumpsuit. No way." 

Namjoon waves a hand. "Don't worry," he says. "I don't think we have to go that extreme. Not until after you debut, anyway. I’m assuming you’ll want to retain my services as your personal stylist." 

Yoongi gives him the finger. 

Namjoon just laughs. 

*****

It’s only October, but the fall has been a cold one, and tonight a chill damp breeze blows right through Yoongi’s bones. He hunches his shoulders. He’d spent most of the afternoon at work taking a statement from a man who claimed his ex-girlfriend smashed in the window of his car. Yoongi thought the man was full of shit, personally, but he’d had to listen to the idiot rant for two hours about how jealous his ex was and how she kept calling him and hanging up and blah blah blah. 

The guy was an asshole. Yoongi mostly just felt bad for the ex-girlfriend. He’d promised the guy they’d look into it and call him back, but he’d put it at the very bottom of the pile of active cases.

It was a long day, made longer by the fact that it was the very last phone shift he’s going to be working for a while. He’s never been so glad to see the shabby façade of his building. 

He climbs the three flights of stairs to his apartment. His building is older, snug but unglamorous. He's been here almost three years now, he realizes, ever since he got reassigned to Gwangjin. He hadn't intended to stay in this place long term, but he'd never quite gotten around to looking for something better.

It's such a relief to step into his apartment and close the door behind him. He closes his eyes and lets go some of that tension he's been holding. He drops his groceries on the counter in his kitchenette and toes off his shoes. He takes off his jacket and hangs it on the peg by the door. Each article of clothing he removes is like a little weight dropping from him. He rolls his shoulder and exhales noisily again. 

He turns on the electric kettle and washes his face while his hot water heats. When it's boiling, he makes some ramyeon and sets it on the tiny two-person table to cook. He gets a glass and a bottle of Chamisul from the fridge.

He sits down heavily and stirs his ramyeon. He likes it a little undercooked, so the noodles have a bit of chew to them. He eats a bite, and then opens his bottle of booze and pours himself a shot. It goes down sharp and cold. 

He shouldn't be drinking tonight. He should eat a healthy dinner and take a shower and get to bed early. He should rest up and prepare. 

Tomorrow he has to go audition to be in idol group. 

It's still so fucking ridiculous he can barely believe it. 

At sixteen Yoongi had thought that nothing mattered as much in the world as doing something _beautiful_. Creating real _art_. He'd listened to illegally downloaded music in his room late at night and sometimes – just sometimes – it seemed like his soul and the distant soul that created those songs were vibrating almost in concert. He’d started writing his own lyrics, and rapping – or trying to. He'd practiced by himself at first, embarrassed and earnest and ashamed, and then finally worked up the courage to post a few of his songs online. 

At sixteen, Yoongi's future had long been laid out for him. From the time he was a small child, his father had told both Yoongi and his hyung about the path they would follow through life: study hard in high school and ace the college entrance exam, then a degree from a SKY university, interrupted only for two years of honorable military service. Afterwards, they could go on to graduate school and become a lawyer or a doctor or a public servant or enter the burnished ranks of the corporate elite at one of the nation's top companies. He would leave it up to them to choose the option that best suited their interests and skills. 

Either way, their father said, they would work hard and excel. They would never slave away in menial, degrading jobs like he had. It would be a challenging journey, but at the conclusion, happy and successful and secure, the world would be their oyster.

What a joke.

Yoongi never had those kinds of smarts, never had that kind of drive. He'd known it, and his old man had known it, and they'd both gone on pretending like he could somehow pull it out in the end. 

But instead of pulling all-nighters to study like his hyung did, Yoongi found music instead and spent his late nights listening to West coast rap. 

It would have been the ultimate fuck you, when he told his dad that he wasn't going to college, that he was going to move to Seoul and become a musician. 

Would have been, except. 

He remembers the day so well. Picture perfect clarity. He got the phone call late in the afternoon on January 10th. It was a cold day, quiet under a grey, flat sky, and he had been downtown with some friends at a record store, flipping through the crates of imports. He remembers the smell of the place: patchouli and incense and cigarette smoke. His phone rang. He reached into his pocket – he was wearing a red puffy jacket, he remembers that for some reason– and saw his mom's name. 

Strange. She rarely called him. 

He answered. "Mom, what's going on?" 

"Yoongi-ya," she'd said, and he had known instantly that something was wrong. There was strain in her voice, and terror. "Yoongi-ya, where are you?" 

"I'm in the city," he'd said. "With some friends." 

"Yoongi-ya," she's said. "It's your father. He's..." 

Rushing sensation of the world inverting. She must have told him more: how his father had fallen on the factory floor, clutching his chest. How he'd been rushed to the hospital in the back of an ambulance. How his supervisor had called and told them to come right away. 

She must have told him more because somehow he ended up at Catholic University Hospital, standing in the emergency department with his brother and his mother. It was late by the time they got there and bitter cold. A dusting of snow fell that night. It seemed like they waited forever, suspended in some terrible nothing world. 

But really, it was not so long. At quarter after ten, a kind-faced doctor had emerged from the double doors. He had smiled sadly and Yoongi's mother had staggered forward and grabbed one of his hands and Yoongi's blood had all frozen in his veins and he had said, "Ma'am, I'm so sorry..." 

Another inversion. The world turned upside down again and all the white snow falling outside had become white noise fizzing in Yoongi's ears. He hadn't heard what came next. Can't remember any of it. He doesn't remember anything until they went back and saw him: lying in the hospital bed as if asleep, but worse than asleep. Further. Gone beyond where any of them could reach him.

Yoongi felt sick to his stomach. His mother sobbed helplessly. His brother stood stoically in the corner with his hands in his pockets. 

It felt like the end of the world, but of course the world had not ended. 

The worse part came after. 

Yoongi sighs and goes to pour himself another shot but the bottle is empty. He takes his empty ramyeon container and the empty bottle and throws them out and gets another bottle of soju from the fridge. 

His father's brand had been Chamisul. Yoongi smokes Raisons like his father did too. There's no particular reason. They're both popular brands. Just happened that way. 

He sits down on his lumpy couch and pours himself another glass. The green bottle sweats, leaving a ring of condensation on his coffee table. 

His father died and everything in Yoongi’s world had gone spinning out of control. 

His father – a tall, handsome man that everyone liked, a respected man with many friends, the kind of man who people came to for advice and favors – left behind a desk full of ink spattered bills and handwritten IOUs. He'd left behind debt – so much more debt than they'd imagined. Yoongi had never questioned how his father, who worked for years assembling radios in a factory, had been able to afford so many nice things and provide such a comfortable life for the three of them. 

Two days after the funeral, when his mother had still been barely able to stand but for weeping, two men in black coats had come to the house to pay their respects. 

Friends of deceased, one said. 

Business associates, said the other. 

They had given his mother a small token gift and stayed for a cup of tea, but on their way out they'd caught Yoongi in the hall. 

"Son," the smaller man – the business associate – had said. "We're very sorry about your father." 

Yoongi, exhausted beyond reason and just a goddamn kid, had muttered something politely nondescript. 

"We loaned your father quite a bit of money," the man had said, his taller partner looming behind him. "We understand the circumstances, so we don't expect payment right now, but all debt comes due eventually, son." 

Rage had made his stomach ache – rage at these two strangers, and rage at the unfair world, and more than anything else, rage at his father. 

"How much ..." 

"Twenty million," the smaller man said. 

The figure had been a shock. They'd known there was debt. His brother had gone through most of the papers, and they'd seen the notes. But so much? It wasn't a fortune, but it was far, far more than they had saved. 

Yoongi squeezed his eyes shut. "I understand," he said. 

They had gone then, out the front door and out of their lives for a little while. 

Yoongi crumpled to the ground, knees to his chest, and cried until he couldn’t cry any more. Then he'd gotten up and wiped his eyes and helped his mother to bed. 

He opens his eyes. It is amazing how easily he can become that boy again, terrified and furious and alone. It has been ten years since his father died and the sense of loss has dulled, but the anger is still there, embers burning underneath the detritus of the intervening years. 

There had been no question of pursuing a career in music after his father’s death. Yoongi's hyung, who he loved – loves – was a senior and studying hard for the college entrance exam. He was the smart one, and his mother said that they would use the insurance money to keep paying his academy fees. Yoongi got a part time job and sank deep into a terrible black fog that nothing could penetrate. 

Then his brother got into Seoul University. There was no question of him staying closer to home to help support the family. He had to go to Seoul; it’s what their father would have wanted. Those terrible men visited once more – slightly less courteous, now. Everything would be fine, if the loan were paid. If not... 

There was only one solution. The month before his brother moved to Seoul, they sold the house and moved into a small two-bedroom apartment far out from the city center. Though his mother’s health was poor, she got a job cleaning an office building. His brother, now in Seoul, called rarely and came home less often. Yoongi finished high school. He did well enough on his exams, but not that well. No Seoul University for him. He considered enrolling in a local school, staying at home with his mother and working to help support her, but what was the point? Every day he felt like the entire world was made of dust and might blow away in a second. Everything was wrong and awful, and he was so, so angry that the only person to blame – his father – had gone altogether. 

He needed something to push back against that nothing. Some people turned to drugs or alcohol or religion or art, and Yoongi might have gone one of those routes too, given enough time and enough despair. 

Instead, on a day in spring when the sky had been soft and the trees had been in bloom, a little over a year after his father’s death, Yoongi had been walking back from work, staring at his shoes, exhausted and cold and feeling like he just might blow apart too, when he had come up to an intersection where the power was out. Pedestrians crowded at the corners, and traffic was backed up. Angry drivers leaned into their horns. A few daring individuals wove through traffic, forging their own path. He stared, dazzled and slightly nauseous. It seemed like chaos would descend and overwhelm them all. 

Then a police woman in a neon yellow vest with reflective safety strips strode into the middle of the intersection. She whistled. Everything froze for a moment. Stern but calm, she started to motion, directing the cars in the right lane to make their turns, telling the pedestrians to cross, wielding her whistle and her authority like weapons. 

Yoongi stared, mesmerized, as she untangled the snarl. Traffic started flowing smoothly. Happy couples crossed the street hand in hand. There were still rules governing the order of the universe, and this woman knew the secret to them. Single-handedly the woman with the reflective vest had pushed back the chaos. It seemed like magic. It seemed so simple and like some profound secret too. Even in this profoundly fucked up and terrible world, there was still some sense of order – of right and wrong – to be found.

He had stopped on the way home and gotten a study book for the police entrance exam. He stayed up late and studied after work and when he took the exam that fall, he passed it. 

He entered the National Police University the next year. 

His mother, made old before her years by grief, died in his second year of university. He and his brother went back home to Daegu for the funeral. 

Yoongi has not seen his hyung since, although they both live in Seoul now. His brother graduated with a business degree and got a good job at X corporation – one of the big ones. He is engaged to a doctor from a good family. 

Yoongi only knows because he checks his brother's Facebook profile once in a while. 

He thinks about messaging his brother, suggesting they meet up. A long time has passed and most of those bad old feelings have been put to bed. His hyung the only family he has left, after all. 

He thinks about it but he never has, and he's not sure that he ever will. 

He closes his eyes and takes a sip of soju. Second bottle is all done. He picks up, feeling the pillowy comfort of intoxication. He drops the bottle in the recycling bin and grabs a third bottle from the fridge. 

"Idiot," he mutters. 

He should be getting to bed. Should be resting up for the morning. Should be practicing his goddamn rap one more time. 

Alcohol is easier, though. 

He sits back down and opens the bottle. He takes a drink, not bothering with the cup this time. He's bone tired – soul tired – and he wants to sleep but thinking about all those sad old days has made his heart hurt. It's easier not to feel anything than it is to think about his goddamn father. 

He turns on the television. The news is on; it's all bad. He flips through the channels until he finds some station playing a re-run of one of those music shows. A group of kids in stupid clothes run around on stage singing and dancing. They look happy and young and fresh, full of energy and excitement. 

Yoongi sighs and takes another sip. He can rap, but that enthusiasm? That eagerness? That _desire_? 

It's been a long, long time since he's felt anything like that. He pushed the cold grey dust feeling away and has kept it at bay, but he can still feel it lurking just behind the façade of his routine.

Tomorrow is going to be a disaster.


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re here for the audition, kid?”

The next afternoon is gray and dismal. Yoongi stands in the doorway of an ugly cement slab building set in a block of other anonymous ugly buildings. It’s been raining on and off all day, a cold and bitter rain. He forgot his umbrella and his carefully styled hair is a sad mess now.

“Uh,” he says. “Yeah.”

The man sitting in front of the door is middle-aged and paunchy with one prominent gold front tooth. He’s got an unsavory air about him that makes Yoongi immediately suspicious.

“Yes, sir. I’m here for the Golden Calf Company auditions.”

Gold Tooth nods. “Through that way,” he says around his cigarette. “You can’t miss ‘em.”

Fuck. Yoongi wishes he had a cigarette, but he left his pack at home. ‘Kim Yoongi’ doesn’t smoke. He’d gotten the whole rundown on his undercover identity last week from one of the guys over in Intelligence. He’s twenty years old, the son of a wealthy manufacturer of plumbing parts in Daegu. He came up from Seoul ostensibly to attend university, but really to pursue his lifelong passion of becoming an idol. His doting father gives him a generous monthly allowance and never comes to visit.

It all sounds like bullshit to Yoongi, but the guy from Intelligence insisted that this rich kid farce was the perfect bait for the assholes running this con.

He steps through the door into a reception area. There’s a desk with some papers and an arrangement of dried flowers on it and a very old computer with a floppy disk drive. It doesn’t look like anyone’s actually done any work in here in about twenty years. He goes through another door at the back of the room and down a hallway. Halfway down, there’s a door with a hastily scrawled sign reading ‘Auditions’ taped to it. Yoongi takes a deep breath and knocks hesitantly.

“You’re late,” someone says from inside.

Yoongi opens the door onto a big, bare storage room, only very recently transformed into a facsimile of a practice space. There are a few folding chairs along one wall and a few motivational posters taped up, but the cardboard boxes stacked in one corner ruin the effect.

“Come on,” the speaker says again. Yoongi can see him better now and shit. He’s just a kid. Dark hair falls over his eyes, half hiding a stern expression that is somehow not out of place on his round-cheeked face. He’s not tall – maybe not even as tall as Yoongi, which is definitely not tall. He’s wearing sweatpants and a tee shirt, and his arms are crossed over his chest.

“Uh,” Yoongi says. “Sorry?”

The kid’s eyes narrow. “Go sit down and wait until you’re called,” he says, gesturing dismissively to the back of the room, where a dozen or so other kids are sitting with their backs against the wall, fidgeting and nudging each other.

Yoongi sits down at the very end of the row of kids. The boy next to him looks honest to fucking god twelve. He’s got huge eyes and buck teeth and is so nervous or excited or something that he’s fucking vibrating.

“Calm down,” Yoongi mutters. “You’re making me anxious, kid.”

The boy stills himself with visible effort. "I'm sorry," he says.

"What's your name?" Yoongi asks.

"Jeon Jungkook, sir," the kid says. "I'm fifteen years old and I'm from Busan. I've spent three years training at the..."

"Calm down,” Yoongi mutters. "You're not auditioning for me." He adjusts the stupid baseball cap Namjoon picked out for him. "I'm Mi ... Kim Yoongi. You can call me hyung."

"Hello, hyungnim," Jungkook says, beaming. "Are you a dancer? Or do you sing? I do both. I'm not really that good, yet, but my teachers say that if I keep practicing harder I could be good one day."

The snotty-looking kid at the front of the room consults his list again and calls a name. A boy from the middle of the line – pudgy, zits, dyed hair – jumps up and follows him into the next room. The rest of the group is silent for a moment, but when the door to the other room closes, the chatter resumes.

"I'm a rapper," Yoongi says, flatly. It’s cold in here. Drafty. What the fuck kind of entertainment company holds their audition in a storage room? Don’t these kids think it’s fishy? He wraps his arms around himself. "Hey kid, how'd you hear about this audition?"

Jungkook hesitates. Under the flickering florescent lights, he looks so pale he's almost grey. "My friend got invited," Jungkook says slowly. "One of the teachers at our academy recommended him, but his parents wouldn't let him go. When the company asked for another candidate, the teacher recommended me." His pride shines in his face.

"Nice," Yoongi says. "And your parents let you come all this way?"

Jungkook frowns. "Well," he says slowly, biting his lip.

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut. "Jesus. They don't even know you're here, do they?"

Jungkook's face falls. He knits his hands together in his lap. He's wearing a stiff pair of jeans – brand new, Yoongi would bet, and bought just for this audition.

This poor fucking kid.

"Once I pass – if I pass, I mean," Jungkook says, “they'll give me permission. My dad thinks that it's just a phase but if I can get into a company and become a trainee, he's definitely going to realize that I can make it!"

That glint in Jungkook's eye is back.

“How’d you pay for the fee?” Yoongi asks diffidently. He’s got to do this carefully, but he has a feeling that Jeon Jungkook is not exactly hot on his trail. “₩200,000 is kind of steep for a fifteen-year-old kid to manage on his own.”

That’s the ‘application processing fee’ the company charges. Just the first of many opportunities for them to skim a little lucre from these kids, even before they get them to commit for the big con. 

Jungkook hangs his head. “My grandma gave me some money for college,” he says quietly. “I’m supposed to save it, but I don’t _want_ to go to college, hyungnim. I want to be a singer. That’s the only thing I want so… I figure it’s okay, right?”

Without any warning, something in Yoongi's chest goes all soft and warm. This kid is a fucking _baby rabbit_ he's so innocent. These assholes are going to eat him alive.

Yoongi really doesn’t want to start _caring_ about this joke of an assignment. His head sags. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“I think it’s okay, Jungkook,” he mutters. He groans a little.

"Hyungnim!" Junkgook sounds alarmed. "Are you nervous? Don't worry!" He reaches out and grabs one of Yoongi's hands. Jungkook's palm is soft and slightly sweaty. "My vocal coach taught me a great exercise to do when you're feeling nervous."

Yoongi swallows. "Yeah," he says. "Nerves. I've got the worst stage fright. Uh. That's why I'm still auditioning. I always choke up when the big moment comes."

Jungkook squeezes his hand. "Hyungnim, I bet this will help. Look, do this." He closes his right nostril with his forefinger and breathes in and out deeply.

Yoongi stares. "What are you doing?"

Jungkook smiles. With one nostril plugged, his voice is nasally and strange. "It calms you down," he says. "Breath through your left nostril to calm down, and through your right nostril to gain strength! Here, we can do it together." He takes Yoongi's left hand again.

With the greatest reluctance, Yoongi brings his right hand to his face. Some of the other boys further down the line – older than Jungkook and stylishly dressed in expensive clothes – are nudging each other and sniggering. Yoongi sighs deeply. He'd known that this assignment held the possibility for an almost limitless amount of humiliation, but he'd had no idea it would start so soon. 

Slowly, he closes his right nostril and breathes slowly in and out his left. He closes his eyes and weirdly enough after a couple of minutes he does feel calmer. He doesn't have stage fright, exactly, but like any sane person he's not exactly eager to make a total idiot of out of himself.

Jungkook beams at him. "See?" he says. "It works."

"Yeah," Yoongi says. "It does. Wow. Thanks, kid."

Jungkook's smile grows even bigger.

The door to the other room opens and the first kid comes out. He looks a little shell-shocked. From the paperwork he'd gotten from Intelligence Yoongi had made the assumption – erroneously perhaps – that these Golden Calf Entertainment didn't have particularly high standards for their trainees. This kid's face makes Yoongi think that he'd jumped to that conclusion a little bit too quickly.

Fuck. Yoongi practiced. He'd done a few verses of an old Tiger JK song in his mirror and after a few mortifying attempts he'd slowly felt his flow coming back. He's good, or at least he used to be. He knows that. Good enough for these clowns, at least. The rest of it though?

He's got a good ear but his only singing experience is limited to rare drunken karaoke sessions with Namjoon and Hoseok, and he's never fucking danced in his life.

Shit.

Clipboard guy follows the first kid out of the room, looking grim. He calls another name, and another shaky teen finds his feet and heads towards his doom.

Jungkook's eyes are huge and terrified. When the door to the inner sanctum slams shut, he closes his eyes and brings his hand to his nose (kind of beaky, Yoongi thinks – hopefully he’ll grow into it) and starts his damned left nostril breathing again.

One by one, the kids head into the back room, and one by one they emerge. The second kid looks excited, and the third, who Yoongi notices is wearing brand name sneakers and a large and gaudy watch, looks downright elated. They don't have to stick around once they're done, so the little band of trainees slowly dwindles. Jungkook's name gets called about halfway through. He jumps up so quickly he stumbles and barely just catches himself.

Good thing. Yoongi doesn't want the poor kid to have to audition with a bloody nose. Fifteen minutes after he enters Jungkook comes out from his audition pale as a leaf and trembling, but he grins at Yoongi and gives him a big thumb’s up.

Yoongi hates himself a little, but he gives Jungkook a smile and a thumb’s up in return.

Finally, there's just two of them left. Clipboard guy looks at them both in turn, consults his list, and then calls the other kid's name.

Yoongi sighs. Of course he's fucking last. He spreads his legs out in front of him and kicks his feet. He's going to get a cramp in his back from sitting on this hard floor for so long. He's not nervous, exactly, but he'd really like to get this over with. If he doesn't get in – and Intelligence assures him with the value of his fictional father's manufacturing business that's not likely to happen – the whole investigation is fucked, and his chance to get on Superintendent Shim's good side is ruined.

It's not life or death, exactly, but a career of paperwork stretching out in front of him feels not dissimilar to the latter.

He squeezes his eyes shut. "Get a grip, Yoongi," he mutters. He’s twenty-seven years old and he’s been through a lot of shit in his life. "If you survived boot camp, you can do this."

Now he's talking to himself. Great.

The door opens again. The other kid – lanky and with a bad haircut – is sweating and nervous, wiping his palms on his thighs. He makes a beeline for the door. Clipboard narrows his eyes at Yoongi.

"Your turn," he says. "Let's get this over with."

*****

The audition room is too small and hot. Someone has hung up a cheap banner with the Golden Calf Entertainment logo – a hideous cartoon cow – up on one wall. In addition to Clipboard, there are three other guys in here. A small, nebbish man with pit stains operates a cheap video camera. The other two men look like they’re running the show. Ah. They’ll be Yoongi’s people of interest. The older of the two men is wearing a rather nice but tasteless suit. His coarse features (his nose looks like it’s been broken and reset badly) and greasy, slicked-back hair look off with his expensive clothing, but his smile seems genuine at least. The other man is wearing slacks and a white shirt with the top few buttons undone. Expensive clothes, although less ostentatious than his partner. He seems the worse of the two. He's got his arms crossed and his posture is taut and too tightly wound. His big grin seems full of entirely too many teeth. This one is not a nice man, Yoongi thinks. Not at all. 

Clipboard stands in the corner holding said clipboard like some kind of totem. He’s asking all the questions.

"Kim Yoongi?” 

Yoongi nods. 

"My name is Park Jimin. I'm a trainee at Golden Calf, and the intended leader of the group you are auditioning for." He glances quickly at Suit and Teeth, eyes flashing under his floppy black hair. He is maybe not as young as Yoongi assumed at first, in spite of the round cheeks. Closer to twenty than eighteen. Maybe older. "The company has very graciously given me some input in the audition process, but Director Seo and Manager Kwak have the final say over all decisions." He bows his head in their direction.

Teeth nods. Suit smiles unctuously and waves a ring-bedecked hand.

"Age?" Park Jimin continues, referring once again to his clipboard.

"Twenty," Yoongi says. Old for a trainee but anything younger stretched the boundaries of plausibility.

“Hey, Jimin-ah,” Suit says in a lazy, joking tone. “Looks like you’ll finally have a same age friend.”

Jimin makes a harsh noise in his throat and doesn’t look at the other man.

Yoongi had been right. Twenty. He can see it in the boy’s face now that he knows. Fresh-faced, certainly, but not exactly a kid, this one. 

"Hometown?"

"Daegu."

"You live in Seoul, though?"

Yoongi nods. "I'm attending school. Kyunghee University. I’m a business major."

"If you get in," Jimin says, sounding like he thinks that to be an extremely unlikely outcome, "we'll expect you to make the group your first priority."

Yoongi nods. He takes a breath. How would he answer if he were a punk ass twenty-year-old kid? "I'm only in school because of my old man," he drawls, letting his accent come out a little more than he usually would. "He wants me to do the whole business school thing." He sneers. "I don't wanna work in an office and wear a suit every day. Think I’d die of fucking boredom. No offense to you, sir."

Suit laughs, more a bark than a proper laugh. "You're funny, kid. No offense taken."

Park Jimin frowns. "It says here that you have no experience in singing or dancing." He sounds peeved. "You do know you're auditioning for an idol group, right?"

Yoongi nods. "I can learn that stuff." He feels it coming back slowly, that hot, eager attitude of fifteen and sixteen and seventeen – the only time in your life you think you can take on the whole entire world and win. "I'm a better rapper than anyone else you've heard today."

Suit chuckles again. "Confident," he says. "I like that. Jimin, make a note."

Jimin's knuckles are white. He makes a quick note on his board. "Yes, sir," he says.

"What does your father do?" Teeth asks quietly. He hasn’t said much, has just been quietly and intently watching this whole time. He's the director, Yoongi thinks. Director Seo. The other guy – in spite of his flashy suit – is just the stooge. This guy is the brains of this operation.

"He owns a manufacturing business. Makes pipes or some shit. He’s always trying to get me interested but who the fuck is going to be interested in pipes?"

Suit – Manager Kwak – laughs again. "Jimin here is interested in pipes," he says, slapping Jimin hard on the back. Jimin barely flinches. "He's a real singer, this one."

Jimin's smile is terrible and fixed. He clears his throat.

"Does your father know you want to become a musician, Kim Yoongi?" Director Seo asks.

Yoongi shrugs. "He knows," he says. "Thinks it's a phase."

Seo steps forward. His arms are still crossed.

"And," Seo says, "is your father prepared to support your artistic pursuits financially? Debuting as an idol requires a significant investment on the part of both the company and the trainee."

Yoongi shrugs – total nonchalance. He's king of the world, and he knows it. "I get an allowance every month. It's more than I need, so I've been saying most of it in case an opportunity like this came up. He'd be angry, sure, but I'm his only kid. He's got no brothers or sisters. He can't exactly disinherit me, can he?"

He smirks, pure asshole, and crosses his arms.

Seo's smile is as large and as full of blue-white teeth as Yoongi has yet seen it. "No," he says, sounding pleased. "He can't."

Director Seo meets Yoongi's gaze and holds it. Yoongi doesn't look away. Maybe the punk kid he's pretending to be would look away – unnerved by this man's glassy, tense stare – but Yoongi has dealt with far worse than this lowlife. He's not about to yield. He's got a little pride left.

Finally, Seo grins and steps back to lean against the wall again. "Jimin," he says. "Continue."

Jimin looks down. "We'll see your dance routine first," he says. He nods at the man with the video camera, who presses play on the stereo. The first track Yoongi provided starts.

Five minutes later, sweaty and a little winded, the best Yoongi can say is that he didn't trip and fall on his face.

Jimin is frowning and making notes on his clipboard. "You've had no formal training in dance?"

Yoongi shakes his head. "No," he says.

"You're not good," Jimin says flatly. "You have a decent sense of rhythm though. You might be okay, with training."

Yoongi shuffles from foot to foot. "I play basketball and stuff. Shooting guard. I'm quick on my feet."

Jimin raises an eyebrow, like he doesn't quite consider that to be worth mentioning. "We'll hear your second song next."

The second track starts – Epik High’s Map the Soul. Yoongi loved this song so much in high school. He’d listened to the CD over and over and over again until Tablo’s lyrics spilled easily from his lips, as well worn and comfortable as his own name. The familiar beat drops. Closing his eyes and listening to the music, Yoongi feels like that kid again, like he felt before everything went to hell. Sixteen years old standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom in his parents' house late at night and trying to get the flow and his expressions right. He's not much of a talker but he's always been able to rap. He was embarrassed about his slight lisp at first, but he turned that into a tool too – found his own unique sound and style. It had been a thrill – realizing he could turn words into lyrics and notes into melodies and tie them up to become whole songs. He's never in his entire life felt more alive than he did standing on the stage that first time in a dingy club in Daegu, ignored by the crowd at first until the strength of his words and his rhythm had won them over. There had been applause when he'd finished, and the stage lights had left stars in his eyes.

Now, as the first verse starts, the lyrics come back and Yoongi can almost pretend he's on that stage again. He spits fire, and remembers how the beautiful, knife-sharp words had been the only thing capable of cutting through all the teenage angst that had threatened to bury him. Bold, he looks up to see Director Seo and Manager Kwak watching him, bored and appraising. Fuck them. Fuck all of this. How dare they take something this good and corrupt it? These fucking pigs.

When the song ends his grip on the mic is white knuckle tight. His chest rises and falls. His throat is raw, and the harsh rasp of his breathing sounds too loud.

Jimin is looking him, guarded but intent. "Well, Kim Yoongi," he says quietly. "Maybe we have a spot for you after all."

Yoongi smiles, and for the first time all afternoon it is sincere. “Told you,” he says. “Best you’ve heard all day.”

*****

The moon is bright in the night sky, big and round as a gleaming silver coil. The leaves rustle in a gentle breeze. Yoongi smiles to himself. That triumphant feeling of success and rhythm and power is still with him. He feels good, almost drunk with the rush of it.

He'd filled out the paperwork for Golden Calf – basic info about himself, his family, some disclosures. He'd asked for a copy of everything, and Director Seo had praised him for his shrewdness. He knows Intelligence will want to get their hands on this stuff. They have copies of the paperwork from the bureaucrat’s brat who caused this mess but some of these disclosures look different than what Yoongi had been given to study. He'd given them his phone number, and Jimin had told him to expect a message within the week with more information.

He's really going to have to do this now. Fuck.

"Look what you got yourself into, Min Yoongi," he mutters. The really weird thing is, he doesn't even feel that bad. It's bullshit, of course, but he can't stop thinking about fresh faced, cheerful Jungkook and his stupid left nostril breathing. Yoongi had forgotten that it was possible for anyone to be that young and optimistic. Had he ever been?

At the corner of the road near his apartment, there's a food stall. Yoongi knows the lady who runs it pretty well, and she waves at him. "Hello Officer Min," she says, taking in his civilian clothes. "Off duty today?"

"Uh," Yoongi says. "Yeah. Day off."

"Wow," she says. "I'm impressed. Min Yoongi taking a day off. Who would have thought I'd see the day?"

Yoongi shrugs his shoulders, awkward. So he works a lot. So does everyone else. It’s not like he’s got a lot else going on. "I had a thing," he says evasively. "I'll take some soondae and some fried squid please. And a bottle of Chamisul."

He pulls his wallet out and hands her some bills. She plates his food and hands it to him. It looks greasy and delicious and his stomach rumbles. He hadn't eaten anything before the audition – fucking nerves messing with his appetite – and he's starving now. He takes a seat at his favorite table. It's wobbly and plastic but it's also way back in the corner and out of the way. The lady brings over his soju and a glass and he smiles at her and thanks her. It pays to stay on the good side of the person who supplies you with booze and fried food.

He pours himself a glass of soju and drinks slowly. There's just a few other people here: an old man who seems to spend all his waking hours drinking and yelling at passersby, two friends sitting at a table near the road and laughing with each other. He breathes in deeply the scent of car exhaust and the earthy scent of dead leaves beneath the richer, closer aroma of hot food. Quiet evenings like his make him think of his old man. There'd been a place like this down the street from their house, and his dad had gone almost every night. Yoongi can still hear his dad’s big booming voice, calling out greetings to neighbors and friends, offering unsolicited advice and laughing. Always laughing. There is so much that had faded over the years, but the sound of his father's laugh has stayed as vivid and present as ever.

"Pretty fucking funny," Yoongi says, hunched forward over his glass. "You always wanted me to be something respectable, Dad. And now fucking look at me. Twenty-seven years old and I'm gonna be an idol. Looks like you couldn’t keep me down after all.”

He laughs, low in his throat. "Cheers, asshole," he says, toasting nothing. Nobody. The soju burns going down.


	4. Chapter 4

"Hyungnim!" Jungkook's piping voice is loud. "You made it too?"

Yoongi smiles in spite of himself. "Of course I did, kid," he says.

It's three o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon, and Yoongi is at his first official practice as a Golden Calf Entertainment trainee. He signed his contract the day before. The company, it seems, has had a precipitous rise in fortune, because the address Jimin gave him over the phone is that of a rather nice building in a mixed-use neighborhood only a few subway stops from Yoongi's apartment. There's a dentist and a coffee shop on the first floor. Golden Calf's offices are on the second, a suite of three or four rooms furnished with bland modular furniture. It could be an insurance office. It could be a drama set. That little personality. A congratulatory flower arrangement stands in one corner; they have, apparently, just moved in.

"I'm glad you're here," Jungkook says, eyes wide. "I didn't think I was going to know anyone."

Yoongi looks around. There are ten boys in total. He only recognizes one other than Jungkook – the kid with the fancy watch from his audition. His big ugly watch is gleaming on his wrist again today, as he holds court in one corner with a bevy of little sycophants. He's got a snub nose and a thick build and Yoongi thinks he looks like nothing so much as a bully.

The door opens, and Jimin enters. He's got his damn clipboard again, but he's wearing a tank top and sweatpants. He's got a baby face, but his shoulders are broader than Yoongi would have thought, and his chest deeper. He's not as soft as he looks, this Jimin character. He's one to watch.

"Line up," Jimin says.

The trainees shuffle into a disordered line. Yoongi stands at the end nearest the door, next to Jungkook.

"My name is Park Jimin," Jimin says calmly. "I met most of you at your auditions. I've been a trainee with Golden Calf for a few months now, and before that I trained with for a number of years with other companies.” He closes his eyes briefly, a spare gesture of exhaustion and frustration. 

The snub nosed rich kid scoffs. “What companies?” 

Jimin’s eyes flash. “Does it matter?” 

The rich kid shrugs. “Just curious, hyung.” 

“S— Company,” Jimin says, sounding annoyed. “And J— Company. Among other places. Is that good enough for you?” 

Byungchul nods. The other trainees look awed. 

"The company has gone through some changes over the last few months, and all of you are new. Director Seo plans to debut a group next year, so we have a lot of work to do. I've seen a lot of trainees come and go over the years, and I want to tell you now that if you don't take this seriously – if you aren't ready to work harder than you've ever worked in your life – you should just leave."

He pauses. The trainees shuffle again.

"Good," Jimin says. "Let's get started, then."

The back room of the suite has been transformed into a practice space. Fluorescent lights flicker in the low ceiling. The floor is dingy linoleum. A fan hums loudly in one corner. It's not a very inspiring room. 

Jimin has them line up again. One by one, they introduce themselves: name, age, hometown, specialty. Rich boy with the gold watch is Woo Byungchul, from Seoul. Most of the kids are from Seoul, actually, from the better neighborhoods. Other than Yoongi and Jungkook, there's only one other kid from outside the capital – a boy named Hyungjoon from Jeolla-do.

"Alright," Jimin says, setting his clipboard down. "Next week our dance teacher will be here, and we'll get to work for real. For today, I'm going to show you a routine we choreographed to Big Bang's Haru Haru. I'll show you first, and then we'll do it together, step by step."

He presses play on the stereo, and then takes a pose in front of the mirror. He's not tall, but he draws himself straight and upright with shoulders thrown back. His eyes are closed, and he is still as the music starts. The familiar track brings Yoongi back to high school. You hadn't been able to go anywhere his senior year without hearing this. He'd mocked it then, gently – the angsty video, the lame rap, corny boy band with pre-teen fans – but honestly, it's a damn good song.

Jimin moves smoothly and with control through the choreography. It's nothing too fancy, but he imbues it with grace. He spins and then steps into a lunge, arms arched overhead. He's good. Yoongi will give him that. Probably has some kind of formal training, too. What the hell is he doing in some no-name joke of an entertainment company like this? Maybe he's got some deep, dark secret that he's trying to cover up. There’s got to be a reason he left those big, famous companies he name-dropped so blithely earlier. Doesn't make sense otherwise. Jimin is not classically handsome, but there's something compelling about him, something that draws the eye. Even if he didn’t make it in the big leagues, he could have tried somewhere else, somewhere legitimate. He has a fucking shot, so why is he wasting his time here?

Fucking suspicious.

The music ends. Jimin rises smoothly from his crouch.

"Sunbaenim," Jungkook says eagerly. "You were great."

Jimin makes an offhand, dismissive gesture, like the praise means nothing. "All right," he says. "Now it's your turn."

Shit.

*****

Yoongi pushes his hair back from his forehead and gasps. He sits down heavily, legs spread out in front of him. If anything, the other kids are worse off. A pudgy kid named Wonjae is flat on his back, gasping, limbs spread wide. The room is hot and stinking – teen boys and smelly feet. They've been at it for four hours. Jimin led them through the choreography step by step, and then made them repeat it over and over and over. Yoongi knows he’s let himself go a little from his boot camp days, but he never realized how bad of shape he was in. He’s breathing hard and exhausted. This is ridiculous. 

Only Jungkook seems undaunted. The kid's an energizer bunny. He's still on his feet, asking Jimin to demonstrate the finer points of the footwork in the chorus.

Jimin regards him coolly. "Do you _really_ think seeing it one more time is going to make any difference? Go sit down."

Jungkook visibly wilts. "Yes, sunbaenim." Head hanging, he comes over and drops to the ground next to Yoongi. He doesn't say anything, but he worries the hem of his tee shirt and stares distractedly at the clock.

Jimin rounds on them, folds his arm, flicks his black hair back out of face. His cheeks are a little red, but he otherwise looks totally untouched by the past four hours. "If you thought today was hard, you better get ready for what's coming next. This was nothing." He isn't smiling, doesn't seem to be enjoying this. He's just ice cold – none of his earlier frustration, just no emotion at all. "Director Seo and Manager Kwak plan to debut a group with six members, which means there's only room for five of you. If any of you want to make it, you're going to have to do a lot better."

He shakes his head, brushes his hair out of his face again. "Pack up," he says. "We're done for today."

There's a rustle as everyone gets to their feet – slowly, groaning, reluctant. Jungkook is still staring at his lap. Pitiful, hangdog expression, slumped shoulders.

Yoongi sighs. He definitely did not sign up to be a babysitter, but here he fucking is. He rests a hand on Jungkook's shoulder. "You did great today, kid," he says gruffly.

Jungkook looks up at him, eyes wide. "Really?"

"Definitely," Yoongi says. "You kicked everyone else's ass."

Jungkook's face falls. "Jimin sunbaenim said–"

"Don't worry about Jimin sunbaenim," Yoongi says, slowly getting to his feet. One of his knees pops alarmingly. He is way too fucking old for this. He's all sweaty and sore and he wants a shower, a cigarette, and a beer, in that order. "He's an–"

"What am I?"

Yoongi looks up sharply. Jimin is standing in front of Jungkook holding a broom in one hand. Jimin and he are almost exactly the same height, Yoongi notices again. Yoongi would swear there's something like a smile playing on his lips.

"A very good instructor," Yoongi says lamely.

Jimin rolls his eyes and turns to Jungkook, holding out the broom. "You're the maknae," he says. "That means it's your responsibility to clean up after practice, okay? Sweep up and wipe down the mirrors. Throw out any trash. I'll stay until you're done and lock up after."

Jungkook jumps to his feet and grabs the broom. With way more vigor than really called for, he starts sweeping. Jimin watches him for a moment, and then turns back to Yoongi. Jimin looks him up and down – a slow and deliberate gesture.

"You might be able to rap," Jimin says in that same calm, toneless voice. "But that's not going to be enough."

Yoongi shouldn't let it get to him – he's a fucking adult, and he can't let his anger jeopardize his cover – but it does. Anger races down his spine, makes his skin prickle. His fists are clenched tight. "What the fuck is your problem?" he asks.

Jimin doesn't move, just stares at him blankly. "Nothing," he says. Then, just as calm, like they're talking about the weather, "You know I have a say in who gets chosen for the final lineup."

It's not a question.

Yoongi's nails are digging into his skin painfully. He unclenches one fist, and then another. He really fucking needs a cigarette. There's something about this fucker – his pretty face, his superior and condescending manner, that uncanny, dead-eyed stare – that Yoongi really fucking does not like. Fuck. He needs to calm down. He can feel his pulse in his throat. "I know," he says.

"Good," Jimin says.

Smug asshole. He's not even looking at Yoongi anymore. His eyes are on Jungkook, across the room. "Jungkook," he calls. "Make sure you get in all the corners."

He goes off to point out some infinitesimal speck of dust Jungkook has missed. Jungkook scurries to sweep it up.

Yoongi lets out a deep breath. Fuck. Keep your calm, Min Yoongi. Stay cool. Keep your head, figure these fuckers out, and wrap this shit up. Jungkook is a nice kid, and Jimin really is a fucking asshole, but at the end of the day, it’s not like it matters. It’s not really like much of anything does. One way or another, this case will be over soon, and Yoongi will never see any of these clowns again.

*****

"So," Hoseok says, leaning forward. "I want to know everything. You actually _danced_?"

Yoongi sighs. He's bone tired, and his left hip aches. He's got tight hamstrings, and he did something bad to them yesterday at practice that has only gotten worse today. 

"Yes," he mutters. "I danced."

Namjoon laughs. "Hyung, I have to see this. Show us your moves."

They're at the bar. It's quiet on a Tuesday night. Yoongi shouldn't have come out, really. He has to be back at the studio for rap practice at nine in the morning tomorrow and he's fucking exhausted, but it seems like weeks since he's talked to anyone his own age, and he's starting to feel the want of it. Yesterday at practice Byungchul and Minwook had spent the entire fucking time bickering over some mobile game. Yoongi had a headache, and his hip had hurt, and he'd wanted to tell both of them to shut the fuck up and focus on the choreography, so they could go the hell home.

Instead, Jimin had told them to shut the fuck up, and then kept them all for an extra hour out of spite. Asshole.

Sighing, Yoongi slides heavily off his stool. "I'm only doing this because I know you'll never shut up about it if I don't," he mutters. He takes off his jacket and listlessly shuffles through the first half of the routine they're learning. He keeps his face perfectly straight as he waves his arms and spins in place.

Namjoon and Hoseok hoot with laughter and applaud loudly enough to draw the attention of the bar's few other patrons. Yoongi sits back down.

"Happy?" he mumbles into his drink. He's not blushing, of course, but it is fucking embarrassing. "I told you I wasn't any good."

"Oh, no way, hyung," Hoseok says. "You did great!"

"I didn't know you had it in you," Namjoon says. "Damn. I can't wait until we can see you on stage."

"Never gonna happen," Yoongi says. "I just have to dig up enough dirt on these people for us to bust them, and then I'm done."

"There's no way they’ll last long with Min Yoongi on the case," Hoseok says.

"Damn right," Namjoon says. 

The bartender comes over with the snacks they've ordered and another round of drinks. There's a moment of silence as they dig in. Yoongi is fucking hungry. Manager Kwak told them all to diet, and Yoongi's been trying but he can't live on rabbit food. This fried chicken is just standard bar fare, but it tastes like the most delicious thing he's ever eaten. He closes his eyes and enjoys it and thinks how much it must fucking suck to do this for real. Poor Jungkook. Poor kid.

"Ehh," Yoongi says after a moment. He wipes his hands on a napkin. "I don't know. There's something about all of this that just doesn't add up." It's been eating at him for the last few weeks. The money side of this whole thing just doesn't make any sense. "So, I had to pay a ₩200,000 deposit to audition. There were a dozen kids at my audition, and I know they ran auditions at a few different places, but still, that's chump change. One they actually offered me a contract, it was another ₩2,500,000 to secure my place, but there's only ten of us. They kicked one kid out already, and brought in a replacement, but even still that's not a lot of money. They're paying more than that to rent that office space they have."

"Yeah," Hoseok says, frowning. "But if they keep kicking kids out, and bringing new ones in, eventually that's going add up, right?"

"Still doesn't make sense," Yoongi says, shaking his head. He feels like he's missing something obvious. "I figured they’d be asking for deposits left and right, but they haven’t asked me for a dime after that first one. And Jungkook – the kid I told you about – he’s broke. They’re not getting anything from him. I’ve tried throwing some money around – bought everyone chicken after practice the other day, showed up in that expensive ugly ass pair of sneakers you suggested, Namjoon – but they’re not biting. They haven’t asked me for a cent. Maybe they’re working on the other kids? Byungchul comes from big money. This Seo guy is spending like he’s got money coming in, anyway. He pulled up in front of the office the other day in a brand-new Mercedes convertible.” He makes a frustrated noise. “I’m missing something here.” 

"You'll figure it out," Namjoon says. "I have faith, hyung."

"Glad someone does,” Yoongi mumbles. "Shim is breathing down my neck about this. He's pissed I don't have more information for them yet."

Hoseok shakes his head. "Hey, he's got to give you a break," he says. "It's not easy learning those dance routines."

"No fucking kidding," Yoongi says. "I have to figure this out before that punk Jimin kills me."

Namjoon and Hoseok laugh again. "You'll be fine, hyung," Namjoon says. "You've faced worse than this, haven't you?"

Yoongi frowns, thinking of the three routines they're supposed to have memorized, thinking of the hours in the low-ceilinged, hot practice room, of Jimin's tense, constant scolding.

It eats at him, Jimin’s scolding does. He’s not sure why. He shouldn’t give a shit about this punk kid. He just needs to do his job and then get out.

"I'm not so sure about that," he says, slowly. "Ah, fuck. I need another drink."

*****

The music is barely audible over the squeak of rubber soles against the linoleum and the sound of ragged panting. Sweat runs down the inside of Yoongi’s elbow. What the fuck. He hadn’t even realized you could sweat there. He keeps count of the beat in his head: a laborious and plodding one - TWO - three - FOUR. He’s not exactly graceful, but he can stay on rhythm and do the moves, which is more than most of the kids can say. Chubby Wonjae is gasping and has given up doing the arm movements, and Byungchul keeps stepping on the toes of the kids to either side of him.

Jungkook, front and center, is doing by far the best job. He’s not a pro yet, but he’s got energy and a natural athleticism that serve him well. He memorizes all the moves quickly and helps the others when they’re struggling.

Kid is too damn nice.

The song ends. Seungwoo drops to the floor like a bag of bricks. Byungchul pulls off his shirt and wipes his ugly red face. The other kids are in various similar states of exhaustion.

Yoongi closes his eyes and smothers a wince. He’s too fucking old for this and his body is letting him know that. It’s getting easy — a little easier — but he still ends each day feeling like he’s had the crap beaten out of him.

“Better,” Jimin says, quietly. “A little better.” Ten heads turn to look at him. The choreographer hyung is here today, but he is a middle-aged paunchy man who spends most of their lessons dozing in the corner, his balding head nodding as he struggles to stay awake. He seems only too happy to defer the trainees’ instruction to Jimin.

Jimin. Yoongi doesn’t know if he’s ever met anyone as utterly fucking frustrating. He acts like he’s training them for the Bolshoi Ballet instead of preparing them to debut as no-name idols for some third-rate entertainment company. He’s an asshole, and if it wouldn’t blow his cover, Yoongi would have punched him weeks ago.

“Jungkook,” Jimin says. “You were late on that entrance after the chorus. I told you about that last time.”

Jungkook’s bright, happy face falls. “I’ll do better, sunbaenim.” He bows his head.

Motherfucker. Yoongi’s eyes narrow. Jimin is always knocking the kid, even though he’s the best of them by far.

“One more time,” Jimin says.

And here they go again.

Yoongi takes a deep breath.

Why would anyone _choose_ to do this? It’s fucking torture. All of these kids are crazy, and Jimin is the craziest of all of them. He’s been training for years, moving from company to company. Any normal person would go home and hang it up after the first rejection. 

The song ends again. The formation dissolves. Sweaty boys drop on the floor. Jimin’s expression is still stern and disapproving.

“Jungkook,” he says quietly. “Is this a joke to you?”

Jungkook stares at his feet. His hair hangs in his face. He shakes his head slowly.

“What was that?”

“No, sunbaenim,” Jungkook says slowly.

Everyone is watching, only poorly concealing glee at not being the one called out. Byungchul grins piggishly.

“You were late again. I _told_ you, and you were late again coming in after the chorus.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jungkook says. “I’ll do better.”

“You’re going to need to if you want to have any shot of debuting,” Jimin says. He shakes his head as if brushing away a buzzing insect. “Byungchul, you did better that time. You’re improving.”

Byungchul grins. Yoongi snorts. What the fuck. Byungchul has all the grace of a fucking water buffalo. He’s easily one of the worst dancers in the group.

“Do you have something to say?”

Jimin’s voice is cold.

Yoongi looks up and meets Jimin’s eyes. He can feel the anger rise up suddenly. Don’t do this, Min Yoongi. Don’t do this. But he can’t help it. Geyser eruption. His hands are shaking. 

“Yes,” he says. “Actually, I do. It seems to me like the same standards aren’t being used to evaluate all the trainees, and that’s bullshit.”

“Are you questioning my standards, Kim Yoongi?” Jimin’s hands are on his hips.

Everyone is silent. Even the old choreography hyung is awake, watching with boggle-eyed amazement. There’s no noise at all except the whir of the fan, the cars outside. Jimin is staring at Yoongi with no emotion at all on that pretty doll face. Yoongi has faced down so much worse than this little brat. He won’t look away first. No fucking way.

But… he sees Jungkook’s terrified expression and all the fight goes out of him. Jungkook wants this so much, and Yoongi isn’t going to be the one to fuck it up for him. Not like this, anyway.

“No,” he says lamely, turning away.

“I didn’t think so,” Jimin says quietly. He turns to the rest of the boys. “We’re done for today. Manager Kwak said we could go out for barbecue if I thought you all did well enough this week, and you have. Get ready, and we’ll meet downstairs in ten minutes.”

There’s a general clamor of delight at this unexpected reward. The tension is dispelled.

“Meat!” singsongs delicate Jiwon.

“I’m starving,” Byungchul says. “I could eat a fucking cow.”

Laughing and glad, they all spill down the stairs to lobby.

Yoongi waits for Jungkook to get his coat on. They’re the last two on the stairs and Yoongi says quietly, “Sorry, kid. Didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that.”

Jungkook looks up. “It’s okay” he says. “I know you were just trying to help.” He shakes his head. "Hyungnim, I know Jimin can be harsh but he just wants us to be the best we can be!"

Yoongi rolls his eyes, but Jungkook can’t see. “Right,” he says. “The best we can be.”

This day has been interminable, and Yoongi’s nerves feel shredded. They troop down the street a few blocks to a cheap and slightly dirty barbecue place with few patrons and a fat, lazy cat lounging on the counter. They sit all together at two tables. Yoongi sits in the corner, near Jungkook. He notices, though, that Jimin makes sure he’s right next to rich Byungchul and his big gaudy wrist watch. Have Seo and Kwak given him instructions to cultivate this rich asshole? How did Jimin even get hooked up with Seo and Kwak? Not through an audition like the rest of them, certainly. Yoongi’s such an idiot; he needs to know these things, and if he hadn’t been so antagonistic tonight could be the time to ask.

The boys are noisy and asinine. Had Yoongi been like this at eighteen? No. All he remembers of that age is sorrow — the bone-breaking sorrow of losing his father — and anger. He remembers coming home at night to the shabby apartment they rented and feeling like he was being crushed down by the weight of the world so much that there was nowhere lower he could go. He’d found the very bottom, dark and terrible. There had been no space left for teenage bravado. 

He climbed back up out of that, slowly and with help. He'd studied hard and passed the police exam.

But that had all been bullshit in the end too, hadn't it?

Now he just doesn't care at all.

The food comes. Yoongi doesn't have much of an appetite. Jungkook, righteous with youth, cooks the meat and gives Yoongi all the choicest pieces, his small way of saying thanks. Jimin, down at the end of the table near Byungchul and his cronies, is quiet and watchful. What’s so great about Byungchul? He's disgusting – coarse and boastful and lacking any kind of charm or talent. He’s rich, sure, but Kim Yoongi is supposed to be rich too. He wears the same brands as Byungchul and flashes the credit cards he was given for this assignment. He’s bought dinner a few more times and brought in coffee in the morning. What else does he need to do to get these fuckers to bite? What’s Byungchul got that he doesn’t? 

Doesn't make any fucking sense.

Yoongi's head hurts. He really needs a fucking cigarette. He glances around. Jungkook is talking excitedly to Hyungjoon. Yoongi's glad to see him talking to someone else without looking like he's going to jump out of his skin. Kid needs some self-confidence if he’s going to make it as a singer. Jungkook is so nervous it’s catching. Nobody's really paying any attention to Yoongi. He knows he should try harder, make himself part of the group, but he can't quite bring himself to do it tonight. Tomorrow he’ll pick up his rich boy act again. For now… 

"Gotta piss," he mutters and gets up from the table. His hamstrings protest. Jesus. Dancing is going to kill him faster than the cigarettes.

Outside, it is evening and Seoul is dark and full of light all at once. Yoongi walks down the block away from the door and leans back against wall. He closes his eyes. The cool air is fresh on his skin and feels better than anything he can remember feeling recently. It's not quiet out here – they're on a main street and traffic is heavy – and it's not especially beautiful but getting out of that stupid fucking restaurant and away from those stupid fucking kids is more of a relief than he can say.

He barely realizes it until he gets home, but every night his shoulders are aching tight and his head hurts and he just fucking hates this so much that it's making him physically fucking sick. He’s doing his job – he’s doing the right thing – but he hates it. So what if he busts these fuckers? So he's looking out for idiot rich brats like Byungchul? Damn. Half the time he wishes he could slap the kid.

Inhale. Exhale. Get a grip, Min Yoongi.

He takes his cigarettes out of his pocket and shakes one out. The click whoosh of the lighter is comforting. Yoongi doesn't even like smoking. It's nasty and he ought to quit. He doesn't do it except when he's stressed. Sometimes a pack can last him months. Lately he's been going through one a week. It's just that it makes him feel a little bit less like he's going to crawl out of his own skin and he needs that, sometimes.

He exhales. The cloud of smoke floats up into the dark sky. He closes his eyes.

“You shouldn't smoke."

Yoongi knows that voice – deeper than he’d expected when he’d first seen the kid, and with maybe the slightest hint of an accent long discarded.

Jimin.

Fuck.

"I don't smoke," Yoongi says, without opening his eyes. "I just smoke when I go _out_."

"Ah," Jimin says.

Yoongi opens his eyes and looks over. Jimin is standing next to him, leaning against the wall. His hands are shoved in his jacket pockets. He's got a knit cap pulled down low, and his hair is falling in his face. He's all dark shadows and angles. He looks older. He looks good. 

It’s not the first time Yoongi’s found himself thinking that. Goddamnit.

"I'll have one," Jimin says, holding out his hand.

Yoongi laughs, roughly. "Thought you said I shouldn't smoke. Pretty hypocritical of you."

Jimin turns his head and smiles, slow and amused. His eyes are full of a light that Yoongi hasn't seen there before – playful, maybe. "I only smoke when I go out."

In spite of himself, Yoongi laughs. He laughs so hard he ends up choking and has to bend double and cough into his hand until he calms down.

Jimin is still watching him with that strange, amused expression. "You okay?"

Yoongi nods. He fishes in his pocket and tosses Jimin his pack of cigarettes.

Jimin lights his cigarette with the ease of experience. His eyes flutter shut as he takes a long drag. His lips are red and plush. Yoongi pulls his gaze away quickly. He really doesn't need to do anything to make this situation even more fucked up than it already is.

Yoongi takes a last drag on his own cigarette and then grinds the butt out beneath his heel and shoves his hands in his pocket. The street is a river of headlights and taillights, red and white, red and white.

"You know," Jimin says after a few minutes, "If you weren't so lazy, you'd actually be pretty good."

His tone is so even that it takes Yoongi a minute to register the insult.

"Hey," he says, biting back a more colorful response. It galls him somehow that this kid is calling him lazy. "I'm not lazy. I'm working my ass off. I'm not a fucking ballerina. Just because you're some kind of dance prodigy doesn't mean the rest of us can pick this stuff up the first time."

There's that smirk again. "I'm not a prodigy," Jimin says, amused, "But thanks." A cloud of smoke hangs in the cool damp air like a halo of mist. "Fine. Maybe you're not lazy," Jimin says. "But you don't want it."

"Want _what_?" Yoongi frowns.

"It," Jimin says. “Debut.” He shrugs. Even his shrug has a sort of studied artfulness to it. "You don’t have that passion."

"I have passion," Yoongi says, scowling. "I'm a good rapper. You have to admit I'm the best rapper. I'm better than that idiot Byungchul, anyway."

Jimin shakes his head. "You don't get it," he says. "I know you're better. But you don't _care_. You auditioned as some kind of fuck you to your rich dad. I get it. But a kid like Byungchul... he's an oaf, but at least he wants to be here."

Yoongi frowns. "I want to be here." It's a half-baked and pathetic protest. Jimin just rolls his eyes. He takes one last drag of his cigarette and exhales a cloud of smoke.

"I hope so," Jimin says. "Because it hasn't gotten half as hard as it's going to. Now, come on. I have to get back inside before one of them lights himself on fire.

Yoongi follows Jimin back into the restaurant, but there's some sour, unhappy taste in his mouth. He wants this. He wants to crack this case, anyway. Jimin wants passion? Fine. Fuck it. Yoongi will show him passion.

Somehow.


	5. Chapter 5

"He'll see you now, hyung," Minjoon says.

Yoongi smiles and nods. He steps into Superintendent Shim's office and closes the door behind him. It's a perfectly beautiful fall day, and bright, clear sunshine spills through Shim's office windows. The Superintendent has his back to Yoongi, looking at something on his computer. Yoongi folds his hands and waits a minute. He is sore from practice. He shifts his weight from foot to foot to ward off the ache. Shim mutters something under his breath and scribbles on the yellow legal pad sitting next to his laptop.

Yoongi clears his throat.

"Sit down, Officer Min," Shim says loudly without looking at Yoongi. "I'll be with you in just a second."

Yoongi swallows and takes a seat.

Superintendent Shim mutters to himself again and scribbles some more notes. Yoongi digs his fingers into his thighs and breathes in and out through his nose. Shim's probably looking at a fucking menu for the new Chinese place down the street. He just gets off on making people wait for him. Asshole.

Finally, leisurely, Shim turns around in his chair. He leans forward and braces his forearms on his massive desk. "Well," he says. "You've been on assignment for four weeks, Officer Min."

Four weeks? Shit. It feels like four years to Yoongi. "Yes, Sir," he says.

"What have you learned so far? How close are we to bringing these people down?"

Yoongi swallows. "I've independently confirmed much of what was reported in the file prepared by Intelligence, Sir. The company is called Golden Calf Entertainment now and is operating out of an office space in Geondae. I've met several employees but the only two with any real authority are a Director Seo and a Manager Kwak. Their M.O. seems to have changed from earlier reports. There are ten trainees in the group. One was dismissed and a replacement brought on. The complaint previously indicated that they were taking deposit money for auditions and then closing shop and starting up elsewhere, but that no longer seems to be the case."

Shim is silent for a moment. "What else?"

Yoongi swallows. "Nothing else for sure yet, sir.” 

Shim breathes in and out heavily through his nose. His exhalation ruffles his mustache.  
"This is a good start, Officer Min," he says, "But I need you to accelerate your investigation. Befriend this rich boy you mention. See if he's been approached by anyone from the company. Try to drop hints about your own background. We can probably free up a little more room in the budget. Why don’t you make a big gesture? Treat them all to a movie. Show off a bit. See if you can get these two to bite." 

Yoongi nods. "Yes, Sir," he says, although he thinks he might need to go a bit bigger than _movie tickets_ to make an impression. 

Shim looks at him for a moment. "I know you think the assignment is a joke, Officer Min."

Yoongi starts to protest, but Shim cuts him off.

"–I know you think it's a joke," he continues, "and I don’t disagree. I am a little skeptical of the value of investing so much manpower and material into such a relatively minor matter, but I don't have to remind you that there is interest in this case at the _highest levels_ of municipal government. It behooves us to keep such parties satisfied."

Right. Some big wig’s kid got scammed and now they want justice. He gets it. "I understand, sir."

"I know you'll redouble your efforts and get us something conclusive, correct? You understand how much is riding on this investigation for _all_ of us."

Yoongi swallows. "Of course, Sir."

"Good," Shim says. "You're dismissed."

Yoongi stands and salutes. 

When he walks out of Shim’s office Minjoon asks, “How’d it go, hyung?”

“Surprisingly, not that bad,” Yoongi admits. “He actually said I was doing a good job.” 

Minjoon shakes his head. “He’s not always awful,” he says, laughing. “He just wants things done a certain way.” 

“Yeah,” Yoongi mutters. “His way.” 

“Yeah,” Minjoon agrees. “But hey, if you do well on this, who knows? Maybe you can give Lee a run for his money as the Superintendent’s favorite.” 

Yoongi snorts. “Not likely.” He’d never be able to rival Lee’s masterful ass kissing.

Still, when he sits at his desk to put in a request to procurement for additional funds, he can’t help but wonder if that’s true. Shim’s favorite? Nah. Not likely. Yoongi isn’t good enough for that. He doesn’t want it enough. He just wants … 

He wants a nap, but something tells him that’s not going to impress Director Seo. He’s going to need something a lot flashier than that. A trip somewhere, maybe? Skiing? Nah. Yoongi isn’t going to risk life and limb for these damn kids. Maybe an aquarium, or an amusement park. Yoongi doesn’t really like rides, but he bets the kids will. Yeah. That might just work. 

***** 

Yoongi sleeps badly that night. He has been dreaming, and he wakes too hot and tangled in the sheets. He kicks them off and the dream fades, but he is left with the hallucinogenic remnants: running down a long dark hallway in an empty building, chasing someone he can't see. It means nothing. He scrubs his hand over his eyes and sits up.

He picks up his phone and– 

"Motherfucker."

It's eleven o'clock, and he's supposed to be at practice at noon. He flies out of bed and into the shower. His building's shitty hot water heater takes forever to actually do its job, so he grits his teeth and winces as he steps under the cold spray. He washes at record pace and jumps out with his teeth chattering. He throws on underwear, sweatpants, a tee shirt, a hoodie, not even checking if they match. He brushes his hair and pulls on a knit hat. He'll have to start his 'rich chaebol son' act tomorrow because he looks like a fucking mess right now. 

Normally, he takes the subway, but he doesn't have time today. He has worried that if he drove someone would see his car, run the plates, figure out this whole thing was a ruse – but that's his own paranoia talking because most of these idiots can barely chew gum and walk at the same time. He’s lucky and hits barely any traffic. Just to be safe, he parks a few blocks away. 11:49. He's going to make it.

He sprints down the sidewalk, dodging an old lady pushing a little cart and a man walking his dog. He has to wait at the intersection across from the office because the light is wrong. He presses the walk button about fifty times to no avail. It seems to take an eternity before the little walking figure appears on the far side of the street. Yoongi dashes across. 11:56. He flies into the lobby and rather than wait for the elevator runs up the stairs. He takes them two at a time, and damn it, this would be a hell of a lot easier if his legs were a little longer. He's sweating now although it's a cold day, and his chest is heaving. He's going to make it, though. He's _going to..._

He dashes through Golden Calf's suite, not even pausing to nod at the oafish man whose job it is today to doze behind the reception desk. He skids to a halt outside the practice room and pulls the door open.

"...late today," Jimin is saying. "We'll get started with everyone who has managed to be here on time today."

"Not late," Yoongi gasps. He drops his coat and bag on the floor and takes his place at the end of the line of trainees.

Jimin narrows his eyes, but he's doing a bad job keeping himself from smiling – Yoongi can see it in the way the corners of his mouth turn up just a little before he controls it. "Just barely," Jimin says after a moment, dismissive but amused.

"Still got here," Yoongi mutters under his breath. Jungkook, beside him, grins.

"I appreciate the effort," Jimin says dryly. "That's the hustle I expect from someone who wants to debut."

There's a chirping chorus of whispers – as there is any time debut is mentioned. It's the holy grail to these kids. And even though Yoongi doesn't care in the same way, he's shocked to realize he feels pleased at Jimin's praise. Stupid punk.

"Calm down," Jimin says. He glances over at the choreographer hyung, who is dozing in his chair in the corner. "Ssaem is going to show us a new routine today."

The balding man snores once and his head falls to his chest.

Jimin's mouth tightens just barely, so slightly that you probably wouldn't notice it if you weren't looking. Not for the first time Yoongi wonders what it would take him to actually get him to quit this joke of a company. The tension eases in a moment, though, and Jimin claps his hands and calls them to attention.

"I'll demonstrate first, and then we'll through it step by step."

Four hours later, Yoongi is sweaty and spent. The routines they're learning are getting progressively harder. This one is faster and more demanding than anything they've done yet. His legs ache and his shoulder hurts and he's fairly certain he's never actually going to get all of this choreography memorized – not that it matters.

Still, he's getting better, and it's not just in his imagination. Jimin leaves him alone, for the most part, but today, halfway through practice, Jimin came over and had with gentle pressure on encouraged him to pull his shoulders back and stop hunching.

“If you slouch,” he’d whispered, lips close to Yoongi’s ear, “you’re just going to look even shorter. Try it again and stand up straight.” 

Jimin had stepped away, but the heat and pressure of his hands had lingered, faint but persistent, as Yoongi ran through the steps again.

He'd – well, not smiled, exactly, but when Yoongi looked up after that next run he'd smirked in a half-pleased way and said, "Maybe you're not hopeless after all."

Yoongi had rolled his eyes, and _that_ had made Jimin smile, real and unguarded, as rare as a sunbeam on a cloudy day. Yoongi watched him for a moment, but then gotten embarrassed and looked away.

It's mortifying, but he knows exactly what his treacherous mind is doing. _Of course_ he has a crush on this twenty-year-old idol wannabe. Of course.

Everyone is starting to pack up. Yoongi gathers up his bag and his coat and his hat and lingers for a minute. Jungkook is busy cleaning up, with Jimin watching him eagle-eyed. Every time Yoongi thinks Jimin might be something other than an asshole, he says something cruel and crushing to Jungkook and Yoongi is reminded how much he wants to punch him. This time Jungkook's going to have to fend for himself. Tough luck, kid. 

Byungchul is joking around with Hyungjoon, laying a meaty arm over his shoulder. The smaller boy looks uncomfortable. Byungchul wearing an expensive leather jacket today, stiff and new, a conspicuous luxury label visible on the zipper pull.

"Hey Byungchul," Yoongi calls. 

Byungchul turns and sneers at Yoongi. He's got a few zits where his greasy hair falls over his forehead. They're red and angry looking. "Yeah?" 

Fucker is only nineteen, but he doesn't speak formally to Yoongi. Yoongi hasn't called him out on it because he honestly doesn't care that much (and because Byungchul has ten centimeters and twenty-five kilos on him) but it’s pretty annoying.

"Relax," Yoongi says, cool as ice. He's a thousand times better than this dumbass, and he knows it. "I was gonna say that you sounded good today in our rap lesson. Maybe I won't be the only one in this team with some flow." 

Byungchul frowns in a befuddled way. "Uh," he says. "Thanks." 

Yoongi shrugs. "Just being honest." He smirks. "I mean, you're not as good as _I am_ yet but you're not bad. Need to work on your breath control. I can show you some exercises that helped me out when I was just starting out." 

Byungchul eyes him warily, like he’s not sure if Yoongi talking shit or genuinely trying to be nice.

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay. Sure.” He still sounds confused, like he’s waiting for the punchline. His eyes are dull and confused. 

“No problem,” Yoongi says. “I mean, I can’t be in a group with guys with no game, right?” 

“Right,” Byunchul says slowly. 

Yoongi clears his throat. Here goes nothing. “I was telling my old man how much we’re improving, and he said he wanted to do something nice for us. Bought us all premium passes for Everland.” 

There’s an immediate clamor. Jungkook claps. “Ohhh, I’ve never been to Everland.” 

Minwook scoffs. “Everland is lame,” he says. “I’d rather go to Lotte World.” 

Hyungjoon and the rest of them seem excited enough though.

Jimin is just watching, eyes narrow, considering. 

“Dad gave me some cash for food and stuff too. I figured we could all go this weekend.” Yoongi meets Jimin’s eyes and smiles. “If that’s okay, I mean.” 

“I’ll have to talk to Director Seo and Manager Kwak,” Jimin says slowly, “but I think it should be okay.”

Yoongi shrugs. Kim Yoongi thinks nothing of gestures like this. “Whatever,” he says. “Old man wanted to rent out the park, but I told him that was going too far.” 

Jimin’s eyes narrow again, and Yoongi wonders for a moment if he has gone too far, but no. 

“That’s generous of your father, Yoongi-ssi. Very generous.” Jimin smiles. “The tickets are more than enough.” 

Yoongi just shrugs and tries to exude teenage insouciance. Inside, he’s elated. He’d bet that as soon as class is over Jimin is going to run and tell Kwak and Seo about Kim Yoongi’s rich dad’s generous offer. Got you, he thinks. This is his in. 

*****

As their rap lesson comes to a close the next day, someone knocks gently on the door. The instructor – a washed up underground MC with the mortifyingly hilarious stage name Hip Shotz that Kwak dragged out of some gutter – opens the door, annoyed, only to find Jimin standing there. Jimin ignores him and addresses Yoongi and the other trainees. 

"When you're done," he says, "Come up to the practice room." 

This announcement throws everyone into a tizzy. Hip Shotz can't get them to focus, which is a challenging task on the best of days. Annoyed, he lets them out early. When they get to the practice room, the rest of the kids are already waiting. Yoongi sits down by himself in the back of the room and notes which of the kids sit together. Relations have thawed slightly this past week. They're not a group yet. There's no real cohesion, but there's been a slight breaking down of the walls of enmity between all of the trainees. Manager Kwak in particular has seized on their upcoming trip to Everland as an opportunity for the kids to bond. Some of them are going to make it, after all, and those that do are going to have to work together. Yoongi has been trying harder make himself friendly with as many of the kids as he can, stepping up to the role of the oldest hyung and trying quietly to learn more about them, about their backgrounds and how they came to the company. 

After twenty minutes of drowsy waiting – the heat is on too high – Jimin comes in, followed by Manager Kwak and Director Seo. 

All the boys go silent immediately. Manager Kwak stops by a few times a week to watch their group practice sessions, even comes to listen to them sing and rap. Yoongi's hackles had raised at first – why was this sleazy old asshole spending so much time around the trainees? – but he thinks now he had the wrong idea. Kwak, beneath his gaudy suits and coarse manners, seems to harbor a genuine and even paternal interest in Golden Calf Entertainment's future boy group. Weird fucker. 

It's much more surprising for Director Seo to be here. Once or twice a week his fast, expensive car will be parked in front of the Golden Calf offices, but the trainees rarely see him. Today, in a dark suit and glossy, pointy-toed shoes, he looks professional and competent, out of place in the shabby practice studio among the crowd of noisy, restless kids. 

Director Seo follows Jimin to the front of the room. He stands with his hands behind his back. His eyes aren't so wild today, but there's still something rigid and tense about his posture that Yoongi doesn't like.

"Well," he days, after a moment. "Here we are." 

Nobody responds. 

"Manager Kwak and Jimin have been keeping me apprised of your progress. I hear that you're all doing very well. You should be proud." Director Seo grins that alligator grin of his, blue-white teeth gaping. "I am here to announce that Golden Calf Entertainment's new boy group will be debuting early next year. Over the next several weeks, Manager Kwak and I will be selecting the five of you who, with Jimin, will be part of the final debut line up. I want to encourage all of you to continue your hard work." 

A rush of excitement runs through the group. The kids turn to their friends, whispering, speculating, already envisioning themselves standing on the stage in front of a cheering audience. 

Yoongi shakes his head. They want to debut this group in a few months? Half these kids can barely dance. There's maybe one or two decent vocalists in the bunch. Kwak and Seo are rushing things, and it's not because this group of knuckleheads is ready for debut. 

Director Seo steps aside, and Manager Kwak steps forward. "I'm excited, kids," he says. He puts a hand on his heart, a flamboyant gesture. "I've dreamed of being a singer my whole life. It's too late for me, but now through you all I'm going to finally see my dreams realized." His voice quivers with emotion. "Five of you all and Jimin-ah are going to debut as Island Boys." 

There's a moment of silence and then Byungchul asks, "Island Boys? Isn't that kind of lame?" 

Kwak's eyes flash. "It's a name that represents the grand maritime traditions of our nation!" 

Jimin is stony-faced and silent. Director Seo looks utterly uninterested in the details of the group he is bankrolling. Byungchul’s expression suggests that he doesn’t think there’s anything very grand at all about the name Island Boys. 

Kwak shakes his head. "We don't want anything too new-fangled," he says. "None of this noisy modern bleep bloop bleep music. We’re gonna go a more traditional route. Your debut track will be rooted in the great folk music traditions of this beautiful country. Think about it!" He spreads his hands wide. " Island Boys is going to be the nation’s first _nautical_ idol group." 

The kids are looking him like he's crazy, and well... he really might be. 

Fuck. A folk music singing, nautical themed idol group? It's so ridiculous Yoongi wants to laugh. 

Kwak seems to take their noisy disturbance as excitement. "Knew you kids would get it," he says, satisfied. "I can't wait until we get started." 

Director Seo clears his throat, and Kwak steps back, apparently having said his piece. “I hear that Kim Yoongi’s father has arranged for you all to go on a trip.” 

Seo eyes Yoongi appraisingly. 

“It’s not much,” Yoongi says. “He just wanted to show his appreciation for how well you’ve been taking care of me, Director.” 

Seo smiles. It is not an entirely kind smile. “How generous and thoughtful of him. I hope you enjoy yourselves, boys. Have fun. After this, the hard work starts.” 

Jimin, standing at the side of the room, is watching Seo with an intense expression on his face. He does not look as happy as he should for someone whose long-cherished dream of debut is about to be realized. 

“We will,” he says. “Thank you, Director.” 

Seo nods once more, and he and Kwak file out of the room. The kids are whispering and unruly. Byungchul is bragging loudly how he knows he’s going to be picked for the team, and Jungkook seems to be consoling Jiwon, who is small and quiet and appears to be convinced of the opposite. 

Jimin shuts them up with a sharp clap. Everyone sits up and shuts up. 

“You heard Director Seo,” Jimin says, hard edge to his voice. “We’re not at Everland yet. The hard work starts now.” 

*****

Yoongi shows up at the impound lot at seven o’clock on Saturday morning. When he requested the tickets and the cash for this operation, he also put in a requisition request for a vehicle appropriate for Kim Yoongi. He doesn’t know or care much about cars, so he’d just written ‘big and flashy’ on the bottom of the form and trusted the guys to do their thing. 

“Hey, hyung,” he says, walking up to the office. Yoongi knows Officer Choi Shinsoo pretty well. He’s helped more than one hung-over reveler retrieve their ‘stolen’ car from impound. 

“How’s it going, Yoongi?” Shinsoo says. He’s a middle-aged man with an easy-going manner that Yoongi likes. He’s good at his job but never makes a big deal about it. “Nice threads.” 

Yoongi scowls. He’d gone shopping with Hoseok a few days ago, and it had been a mistake. He’s wearing purple and green sneakers with a thick, clunky sole, denim overalls over a button up shirt, and a windbreaker. “Thanks,” he mutters. “I’m undercover as an asshole.” 

Shinsoo laughs. “That explains the car, then. Let me show you what I’ve got for you today.” 

Yoongi follows him out into the lot, where a team of Shinsoo’s guys are waxing a hulking black SUV. The chrome hubcaps gleam in the weak autumn sunshine. 

“This doesn’t look like the kind of car a kid would drive,” Yoongi says, frowning. “Are you sure this is the best choice, hyung?” 

Shinsoo laughs. “You’re not going to fit ten people in a Porsche Boxster, Yoongi-ya. And just wait, check this out.” 

Shinsoo motions his guys away and climbs into the driver seat. The engine starts to hum, and Shinsoo fiddles with something on the dashboard. Deafening music starts playing, bass so overpowered that Yoongi can feel his teeth vibrate. Garish blue lights illuminate the underbody. Shinsoo waves and rolls down the window. 

“What do you think?” 

Yoongi thinks it’s fucking awful. “This is perfect, hyung,” he says.

Shinsoo laughs again. “Did you doubt me? Now climb in and I’ll show you how to operate the Blu-ray player.” 

***** 

"Sweet ride, hyung," Byungchul says as he climbs into the monstrous SUV.

Yoongi had offered to pick everyone up at home. It has the double benefit of letting him show off this preposterous car and letting him get another look at where some of these little punks live. Jungkook had demurred, saying instead he'd meet them at the company building. Yoongi had tried to insist that it was no big deal to pick him up at home, but Jungkook had held firm, showing a surprising amount of mettle for some who still gets nervous when he has to say more than five words in front of the group. 

Yoongi worries about the kid. Jungkook's working at least one job on top of all their practice, and he's looking kind of string-bean-y and gawky, like he’s not getting quite enough to eat.

Or maybe it's a growth spurt. Jungkook has started to loom infuriatingly. The only thing that keeps Yoongi from being too annoyed is that the kid looms over Jimin, too. 

"Thanks, Byungchul," Yoongi says casually. "It was a birthday gift from my old man the year I got my license. I keep my 'gatti in the garage at home, of course." 

Byungchul looks skeptical. "You have a Bugatti?" 

"It's just a Veyron," Yoongi says humbly. "But there are some perks to being an only child, you know?" 

Byungchul huffs and throws himself back against the leather seat. "No shit," he says. "My hyung got a 911 Carrera for his twentieth birthday, but my dad says that if I wanna stay in Golden Calf all I'm getting is an Audi." He wrinkles his nose.

Yoongi pulls away from the front of Byungchul's villa. He lives in Hannam, close to the impound lot in Gwangjin, so he'd gotten picked up first. Yoongi's never been in one of these fancy luxury developments before. Even though it's a bright and sunny morning, the streets are empty. He'd had to show his (fake) ID to a guard before being let past the gate house. 

Creepy. 

"Why?" Yoongi asks. "He getting squirrely about the cost? It is a big commitment, but I didn't think you'd have that problem, Byungchul. Your folks are loaded." 

Byungchul huffs again. "It's not the money," he says. "He just wants me to focus on school. I'm supposed to get into Yonsei and major in business like my hyung. You're so lucky your dad is okay with your music career." 

Damn. Yoongi'd been hoping for something a little juicier than that. 

They pull back out onto the public streets and into traffic. "Yeah," Yoongi says, hands tight on the steering wheel. He feels like he's driving a tanker ship. It'll be a miracle if he gets through the day without an accident. "Well. I'm just lucky. What can I say?" 

Byungchul makes a sour face and turns on the radio. He seems to take any reminder that he's not the most privileged kid in Seoul as a personal affront. 

By the time they pull up to the Golden Calf offices, Yoongi's nerves are a little frayed. He's not a bad driver, but he feels like an idiot in this car, and after they picked up Wonjae, Seungwook and Jiwon the four kids had started talking loudly about every single ride they plan on riding. There’s one roller coaster Byungchul is especially looking forward to that does a full 720 degree loop-de-loop.

Just the thought of it turns Yoongi's stomach.

Minwook and Hyungjoon live in a dorm right near the company, and they and Jungkook are waiting out front. Jimin is there too, standing a bit apart from the other kids. This car is monstrous, but it's still going to be a tight fit. 

"Hey, Byungchul," Yoongi says, "You get in the back and give Jimin hyung your seat." 

Byungchul gives him a dirty look, but all the trainees are deferential to Jimin, more so as someone with at least marginal influence over their fate than as the nominal leader.

Finally, they're all settled and on the road. It's almost nine and even on a Saturday, traffic is bad. The kids are noisy, the radio is loud, and Yoongi already has a headache. Jimin has his arms crossed over his chest and stares steadfastly out the window. It takes them a half an hour to get on the freeway, but finally the traffic clears, and Yoongi can actually go the speed limit. It's a relief. He tunes out the kids and music and relaxes. It's a nice day, at least, and warmer than usual for this time of year. The hills are all auburn and gold, and it's nice to get out of the city. Maybe he'll even find something useful out today. He'd almost had Byungchul back there... 

"Did you pick this out yourself?" 

"Huh?" Yoongi glance over at Jimin. He's barely said five worlds all morning but he looks a little bit more awake now. 

"This car. Did you pick it out yourself?" 

Yoongi shrugs. "Nah," he says. "My pop picked it out." 

"Hmm," Jimin says. "The leopard print seats covers are a... nice touch." 

They're hideous, and Yoongi knows it. "Yeah," he says. "Well. Don't want to ruin the leather." 

Jimin scoffs and then turns to look out the window again. 

Asshole. He's probably just jealous like Byungchul. Jimin doesn't talk much about himself. He's never mentioned his parents or even his hometown, although Yoongi's convinced it's not Seoul. If he has a car, Yoongi's never seen it. 

They get to Everland a little before eleven. Yoongi is tired and needs to piss. Because he's supposed to be a rich asshole, he passes the ordinary parking and pulls up to the valet. The kids spill out of the car. Yoongi climbs down from the front seat and hands over his keys. They troop up to the gate, and Yoongi doles out the tickets. 

"Everyone met back at the gate at one," Jimin says sternly. "We'll get lunch then." 

The kids are barely listening though. Byungchul and Wonjae are already racing towards the turnstiles, the others trailing close behind. 

Jungkook and Jiwon hang back, though. 

"Hyung, we're going to stick with you," Jungkook says, smiling at Yoongi. "I'm not letting my ride out of my site." 

Yoongi chuckles. "That's fine, Jungkook-ah." 

Jimin is watching them quietly, his ticket in his hand.

"You coming?" Yoongi asks. 

Jimin shrugs, but he trails along behind. 

***** 

"Come on, hyungs!" Jungkook says, standing near the entrance to T Express. The wooden coaster looms behind him, looking rather rickety in Yoongi's opinion.

"Let's go," Jiwon says, waving. 

Yoongi frowns. It's not that he doesn't like rides, exactly. He just doesn't really enjoy riding them. At all. Jimin stands beside him, equally unenthused. His face is set in a grim expression of determination. 

"What's wrong?" Yoongi mutters. "Worried you're too short to ride?" 

Jimin rolls his eyes. "You're less than a centimeter taller than I am." 

"Still taller," Yoongi says. 

They'd gotten officially measured and weighed for their profiles, and Yoongi had privately thrilled at not being the shortest. 

Jimin glares but doesn't say anything. 

"Hyungs!" Jungkook calls impatiently. "If you're scared you don't have to ride. We're going to get on line." 

He and Jiwon run into the maze-like entrance to the ride. 

Yoongi looks at Jimin. Jimin looks back at him. 

"I'm not scared," Yoongi says with more conviction than he feels. 

"Me neither," Jimin says immediately. He swallows audibly. "Well. Let's go." 

"After you, Jimin-ssi," Yoongi says, gesturing towards the turnstile. 

Twenty minutes later, as the pneumatic safety bar drops down, locking Yoongi and Jimin in place, Yoongi is not so sure this was a good idea. In the row in front of them, Jiwon and Jungkook look totally at ease. Jungkook twists around to give Yoongi a thumb’s up.

"This is great, isn't it, hyung?"

"Oh yeah," Yoongi says. "Just peachy." 

Beside him, Jimin is testing the give of their lap bar. He clicks it down another notch so that it's pressing hard into Yoongi's diaphragm. 

"Jesus," he mutters. "I'd like to breath, please, Jimin." 

Jimin looks at him, eyes a little wild. "I don't want to fall out," he hisses.

"Calm down," Yoongi says, more dismissively than he feels. "This doesn't even go upside down. You'll be fine." 

Jimin looks skeptical.

The spotty-faced teen operating the ride makes the prerequisite safety announcements. Another kid walks down the train and tests to make sure each lap bar is locked in place. A siren sounds, and with a lurch, the train starts to move. 

Jimin's hands are wrapped so tightly around the lap bar his knuckles are white. He is staring straight ahead, lips pressed together. He is not handsome in the classical way that Hyungjoon is handsome. Jimin’s nose is a little snub and the bridge is a bit uneven and when he's tired – not that Yoongi is paying attention to when Jimin is tired – his eyes get swollen and puffy. He's got a crooked tooth and round cheeks and he is officially shorter than Yoongi but still there is something compelling about him. Yoongi wonders again how he ended up in Golden Calf. 

"What?" Jimin mutters tensely, without looking at Yoongi. 

"Nothing," Yoongi says. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm _fine_ ," Jimin says, but he doesn't look fine. He's breathing hard and he's very pale. 

He's not fine. 

"You didn't have to do this if you knew you were going to freak out," Yoongi mutters. They're high now – high enough that the park is spread out below them in doll-house scale. The precipitous drop comes soon. 

Jimin squeezes his eyes shut. "I shouldn't have," he says through gritted teeth, "but I'm an idiot, so I did. I just... I don't like rides, okay?" 

"Yeah," Yoongi says. All the people down there look like little bugs. "I don't love them either." 

Jimin can't seem to find any more words. Their ascent is decelerating, which is a bad sign. In front of them, Jungkook's arms are already overhead, as if he's practicing for the thrilling drop. 

"Just..." Yoongi takes Jimin's hand from the metal lap bar and weaves their fingers together. He's never noticed before how small Jimin's hands are. His palm is soft and warm. 

"What are you doing?" Jimin asks, eyes wide.

"We're going to pretend this never happened," Yoongi mutters.

Jimin licks his lips, stares at their clasped hands, and then back at Yoongi. 

"Yeah," he says. "Sure." He swallows again. "Thanks." 

The train reaches the top of the hill. There is a terrible moment where everything is still. Yoongi blinks. Those people down on the ground are just tiny dots now. His heart is beating fast. This waiting is the worst part. He feels sick to his stomach. Jungkook is squirming around, and the car rocks. 

Then, the plunge. Jimin squeezes Yoongi's hand so tightly Yoongi thinks his fingers might break. They're racing straight down the hill. Jungkook and Jiwon are screaming and Jimin is screaming, shrill and alarmed, and Yoongi is too, he realizes. He's screaming so loudly his throat hurts. His stomach swoops as they reach the bottom of the hill and then fly up the next crest. The train leans into a curve and Jimin clasps his hand even more tightly. Yoongi squeezes back, reassuring and brief. Jimin glances over and smiles quickly, and then they're speeding down the last hill and all Yoongi can hear is his voice and Jimin's higher voice, loud over the mechanical roar of the train and the other screams. All he can see is a blur. All he can feel is the wind on his face and Jimin's hand in his. 

And then it's over. The hydraulic brakes kick in as they pull back into the station. Yoongi's breath is knocked out of him as he's thrown forward into the lap bar. Gasping, he droops back against the seat. Shit. His heart is still pounding. He might be sick. 

The lap bar releases. 

He looks over at Jimin, who looks back at him. Yoongi pulls his hand back, cradling it to his chest. 

"Jesus," he mutters. "Think you broke it." 

"Sorry," Jimin says, climbing out of the car. He waits while Yoongi scrambles out awkwardly. 

"Thanks," Jimin says. 

"Thanks for what?" Yoongi straightens his sweatshirt. 

Jimin tilts his head and looks amused. 

"Pretending it never happened, remember?" Yoongi says, trying to sound calm and cool even though his heart is still pounding – and not just from the ride.

Jimin nods and smiles – maybe first time Yoongi has seen him smile so sincerely, with no hint of derision or cool superiority. "Thanks for nothing, then," he says, still smiling a goofy smile. 

Yoongi smiles too. Can't help it. "Not a problem." 

***** 

Jungkook and Jiwon are waiting at the exit. 

"Wasn't that great?" Jungkook's eyes are huge and his cheeks are flush. He is almost vibrating with excitement. 

"We want to go again," Jiwon says. 

Yoongi's not sure his heart can take a second trip. "I'm gonna pass," he says. 

"Me too," Jimin says. "I need to keep an eye on Yoongi. Buddy system." 

Yoongi gives him a dirty look, which he ignores.

Jungkook just shrugs. "Your loss, hyungs," he says, before pushing back through the turnstile behind Jiwon. 

“Keep an eye on me, huh?” Yoongi says as Jiwon and Jungkook disappear around the corner. 

Jimin huffs. “Well I needed some excuse,” he says. He sits down on one of the benches across from the exit to the ride. Yoongi sits down at the other end of the bench, a generous space between them.

“Nah,” Yoongi says. “The kids don’t care. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jungkook this excited.” 

Jimin shakes his head. “No,” he says immediately. “He was more excited the first day of practice. And he was more excited than that when I called him to tell him Golden Calf had accepted him as a trainee. He couldn’t speak for ten minutes.” 

Yoongi laughs. “I bet he couldn't. He was so nervous when he auditioned I thought he was gonna pass out." 

Jimin gives Yoongi a curious look. "You didn't know him before, right?" 

Yoongi frowns. "No, of course not. I just met him while we were waiting there. Why?" 

Jimin shrugs. "No reason. I just didn't picture Mr. Big Shot Kim Yoongi having such a soft spot for some dopey kid." 

Yoongi splutters, even though he's had much the same though. "He's not dopey. I don't know what your problem with Jungkook is, but he's a good kid, and he's working so hard. He's better than I am... better than any of us, honestly." 

When this little tirade ends, Jimin doesn't say anything, just stares at Yoongi with narrowed eyes and a slightly quizzical expression. 

"What?" Yoongi asks, crossing his arms over his chest, hunching a little in his embarrassment. 

"I don't have a problem with Jungkook," Jimin says slowly. 

"You act like you do," Yoongi says. "You're so hard on the kid, and he looks up to you so much. Don't you see how much it kills him?" 

Jimin stares down. His hair – thick and floppy – falls in his face. "I'm hard on him because he's the best," he says quietly. "You don't get it. I know you say you want to debut, but either way, it doesn't really matter to you. Your dad is rich. If things don't work out, what's the big deal? Jungkook... he really wants this. Enough to give up everything. I've seen his type, and if he wants it as bad as he says he does, he needs to be ready for how hard it's going to be." 

Jimin rests his forearms on his knees, hunched forward. 

It's not an easy life, training to be an idol. Not as easy as Yoongi thought it would be. Not close. 

"What about you?" he asks after a long moment.

Jimin looks up. "What?" 

"You really want it? As bad as Jungkook does? I figure you must be pretty desperate to have signed up with Golden Calf after training at all those big companies."

Jimin's face goes dark. "It's the only thing I've ever wanted," he says, "but I'm not as good as Jungkook is." His frown turns into a smile, small and bittersweet. "I know this probably sounds strange to you, Yoongi-ssi, but for some of us the world doesn't just deliver up anything we want. Some of us have to fight and struggle just to grab on to anything we can get." 

Yoongi doesn't know what to say to that. Kim Yoongi doesn't, anyway. Not this rich kid with the ugly imported car and the doting, supportive father. Kim Yoongi's never had to give up anything in his life. The world makes way for him, yielding and sweet. He wants to be an idol? Sure. Why not? And as Jimin says, if he fails he can go back home to daddy's mansion for a little wound licking before something else takes his fancy. 

Min Yoongi knows. He had everything ripped away from him – all dreams, all sentiment, everything – and climbed back up out of the darkness hand over hand only to settle for this dry, lonely, grey life. 

He can't tell Jimin any of that though.

Jimin must see some of it on his face because that little sorrowful smile turning down the corners of his mouth fades and his eyebrows knit, and he is looking at Yoongi, looking for some answer in Yoongi's face, searching for something Yoongi can never let him see. 

Yoongi clears his throat and stands up. "I'm thirsty," he says. "You want a soda?" 

Jimin shakes his head. He leans back against the back of the bench and looks up. The pale long line of throat and jaw is riveting. Yoongi swallows. 

Don't get too close, he thinks. Remember what you're doing here. 

He walks over to the nearest concession stand where he waits in line behind some noisy children and buys a soda he doesn't want to drink. He takes a sip of it for show, closing his eyes and feeling the bubbles in his nose. It's a cool day in late October, but the sunshine is still hot, and he feels a little too warm, stifled in his ugly windbreaker and overalls. He can still feel the warm softness of Jimin's palm. 

When he walks back over to the bench where he left Jimin, Jungkook and Jiwon are standing there, hair ruffled and eyes bright. 

"Hi, hyung," Jungkook says. "Let's go! We want to go on the log flume." 

“Not the pirate ship?” 

Jimin snorts. 

The day after Seo's announcement that the line-up for debut would be imminently finalized, Jimin and the choreographer hyung had introduced them to their new title track. According to Manager Kwak, 'Heave Ho!' is a jaunty folk-rock number celebrating the thrilling freedom of a life on the high seas. 

It's also the worst fucking thing Yoongi has ever heard. 

The lyrics are beyond mentioning. Every time Yoongi has to sing the chorus of 'Heave Ho! We're on a boat! Life is an adventure on the high seas! Heave ho! Ho ho!' a piece of his soul leaves his body. He'd had to re-write all of the rap parts - 'My love for you is as deep as the sea. Please wait on the shore for me!' was beyond the pale, but he'd been forced to include plenty of corny nautical imagery in his rework. The choreography isn't terrible, but there's definitely one part where they do an honest to god jig. 

“I think we still need more practice before we’re ready for the pirate ship,” Jungkook says tactfully. 

“I’m never going to be ready,” Yoongi says under his breath. “The log flume though? Isn't it a little cold for that?" 

Jiwon shakes his head. "No way," he says. "This is the perfect time. There won't be any line!" 

"Yeah!" Jungkook says. "And besides, everyone knows that if you sit in the front of the ride you don't get wet." 

They're so excited. It's almost sweet, Yoongi thinks. He can suck it up and go on one more ride. It's just the log flume anyway. What could go wrong? 

Jimin is watching quietly. 

"You coming?" Yoongi asks, as Jiwon and Jungkook start to run ahead. "Or is the log flume too much for you?" 

Jimin raises an eyebrow. "That eager to hold my hand again?" He's smiling in a way that's almost... playful. 

Yoongi feels his ears get hot. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," he mutters. "Who's holding hands?" 

Jimin's smile gets bigger. 

"Come on," he says. "If we don't hurry up Jungkook and Jiwon are going to get the front seats and we're going to be the ones getting soaked." 

*****

Jimin pulls rank, and he and Yoongi get the front half of their little log boat. Yoongi sits in the very front with Jimin behind him.

They get soaked anyway. 

The water rises up in a big wave on either side of their boat and comes crashing down on them. They climb out of the boat sopping wet. Jimin's hair is plastered to his face, and his sweater is dripping. Yoongi's stylish windbreaker keeps his top somewhat dry, but his hair is wet, and his dumb overalls are sodden. 

Jungkook and Jiwon think it's hilarious. 

"I didn't think you were actually going to take me seriously," Jungkook says, grinning. “I just made that up.” 

"Laugh it up, punk," Yoongi says, teeth chattering. 

Jimin looks miserable. His jeans are plastered to his legs, and he wraps his arms around himself.

"Fuck," Yoongi says. "I wonder if they have a laundromat here."

They have just about everything else: hotels and lounges and day care centers. 

"Hyung," Jungkook says. "Why don't you just go buy some new clothes? They sell all kinds stuff here." 

Oh. Right. Yoongi's supposed to be loaded. He wouldn't think anything of dropping a few hundred thousand won on overpriced theme park swag. 

They end up in one of the cheesy gift stores. Yoongi needs pants; his options are limited to baggy patterned pajama pants like his grandmother might wear and black sweatpants with one of the cute cartoon-y Everland mascots on the ass. Damn. He stares at both pairs in distaste and then sighs and figures the sweatpants are better. The windbreaker is long enough to cover the grinning little bear. 

Jimin is frowning at a rack of hideous polyester sweatshirts with cartoon characters on the front. 

“Just pick one out,” Yoongi says, coming up behind him. 

Jimin sets his lips. “I’m fine,” he says. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “I’m paying for everything,” he says. “Get a damn sweatshirt, Jimin.” 

Jimin scowls. “I’m fine, I said. I don’t need your largesse, Yoongi-ssi.”

Yoongi snorts. “It’s my dad’s largesse,” he says. “And besides, if you get sick this whole thing is gonna go to shit, isn’t it? Something tells me Kwak isn’t up for teaching us the new choreo.” 

Jimin almost smiles at that. “Fair point,” he says. Sighing, he pulls a fairly inoffensive grey sweatshirt with a panda on the front from the rack. “Okay. Thank you, Yoong-ssi.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Yoongi says. “I’ve got the old man’s credit card today, like I said.” 

Jimin rolls his eyes. 

Fuck. Yoongi wonders if he’s overdone it. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go pay for this shit and get changed. I’m freezing.” 

Jimin nods and follows him up to the front of the store. Jungkook and Jiwon are there, trying on goofy novelty headbands and making faces in the mirror. Jungkook wears a pair of pink rabbit ears, and Jiwon has mouse ears. When Jungkook sees them coming he hurries to take off the headband off and smooth down his hair. 

“Hey,” Yoongi says. “What are you doing?” He takes the headband from Jungkook and puts it back on his head, all askew so that his hair is mussed. “It looks cute, kid. Maybe we can work this into our debut concept. There’s tons of rabbits in old stories, right?” 

Jungkook wrinkles his nose and straightens his hair. “Not funny, hyung.” 

“I’m not kidding,” Yoongi says. “You should get it. Looks cute.” 

“Nah,” Jungkook says, taking the headband off again and putting it back on the rack. “That’s okay. I don’t need to spend…” 

“My treat,” Yoongi says, snatching the headband from him before he can hang it up again. He takes Jiwon’s too, over the boy’s protests. “Jimin-ssi, you better pick one out too.” 

Jimin gives him an incredulous look. “I’m fine,” he says.

“What? You want me to pick one out for you? Okay.” Yoongi takes a headband with frog eyes from the rack and puts it on Jimin’s head. His hair is all messy too, and his cheeks are pink. 

Yoongi has never seen him blush before. 

“Hmmm,” he says, considering. “No. Not quite right.” He puts the frog headband back. There’s a shiba hat, and a pair of star antennae and… 

“This one,” Jungkook says, taking a headband with a lily pad on top off the hanger. 

“Nice choice, Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi says. 

Jimin’s eyes are wide, and they are very close to each other. Yoongi brushes some of the hair back from Jimin’s forehead gently. Up close, he can see a spot of stubble Jimin missed shaving, see a blemish along his jawline. Yoongi carefully slides the headband over his head. The plastic lily pad flops. The pink flower on top is the same shade as Jimin’s flush cheeks. 

“Perfect,” Yoongi says. 

“Asshole,” Jimin mutters, but he is smiling. “What about you?”

Oh. “No,” Yoongi says. “I’m fine. I’m…” 

It’s too late though. Jimin has a headband with a pair of cat ears in his hands, and he’s leaning forward to slide it behind Yoongi’s ears. 

“Oh, that’s great,” Jiwon says. 

“You look so cute, hyung,” Jungkook says. 

Yoongi scowls at himself in the mirror. The fuzzy black cat ears are crooked. He straightens them, and pats his bangs flat, and scowls again. 

“I like it,” Jimin says, resting a hand lightly on Yoongi’s shoulder. He glances down at his phone. “Oh, it’s almost one. We better hurry. We have to meet everyone else.” 

Yoongi pays for the sweatpants and the sweatshirt and the four stupid headbands. He and Jimin change in a public restroom. Jungkook and Jiwon make them take a group selfie with their headbands on. They head back to the entrance to wait for Byungchul and the other boys, who are fifteen minutes late. 

“What’s up with the lame ass headbands?” Byungchul asks loudly as he and the kids approach. 

“We’re practicing for our fansigns,” Jungkook says.

Clever kid. Byungchul looks stricken. 

“Damn,” he says. “I never thought about of that.” 

He insists on ducking into one of the little shops near the entrance to get his own headband before they go get lunch.

It is a long day, and a strange one. Yoongi feels suspended, caught between the two people he’s pretending to be. He waits with Jimin while the kids go on more rides. They don’t talk much, but the silence is mostly companionable. He does learn a little: Jimin isn’t good with technology; he prefers books to his phone. He grew up in Busan. At some point in his past he studied modern dance and ballet. He likes animals. He likes people, too, but he does not mind being alone. 

These are all the kinds of minutia you'd expect to learn in the course of getting to know someone, but they ring false to Yoongi. Too picturesque, this set of facts. Too neatly curated to paint a perfect picture of Jimin, the hard-working, long-suffering leader. 

Jimin is guarding some part of himself, but whether he does it out of fear or out of some baser motive Yoongi is not sure. 

The park is open until 11, but Jimin says they need to leave after the firework show. Minwook and Seungwoo protest, and even Jungkook makes unhappy noises, but it is a long drive back to Seoul and tomorrow they have practice. They gather in the picnic area to watch the firework show. It's fine: just the same as every other firework show that Yoongi's ever seen. He isn't the type to 'ooh' and 'ahh' over shit like this just for the hell of it. 

The display ends with a barrage of light and color and sound. Gunpowder stink drifts through the park on a light breeze. The flashing lights and clamor of the rides seem more menacing at night. Almost hallucinogenic. The park rings with laughter and screams. The kids follow Yoongi and Jimin back to the parking lot, where a staff gets Yoongi's valet parked car. They all pile in and hit the road. 

Twenty minutes after they hit the freeway, Jimin says softly, "They're all asleep. Even Byungchul. He's sleeping with his mouth open." 

There's a hint of amusement in his voice. He takes out his phone and leans back over the front seat to get a picture. 

"I'm glad they had a good time," Yoongi says. 

"This was really nice of you," Jimin says softly. "The kids appreciated it." 

Yoongi shrugs. "Already said it wasn't me. It was my dad's idea." 

"Okay then," Jimin says, annoyed. "It was nice of your dad. I'm trying to say it was a nice gesture, Yoongi-ssi." 

"Well," Yoongi says, "They deserved it. They're working really hard. I was a lazy asshole at Jungkook's age." 

Jimin snorts. "You're not that much older than him." 

Oh shit. Right. "Yeah," Yoongi says, "Uh. I grew up a lot after I moved up to Seoul, I guess." 

Not a lie, exactly, if not quite the truth. 

Jimin is still wearing his lily pad headband. He takes it off now and smooths out his hair. "I think that gave me a headache," he mumbles. 

Yoongi ditched the cat ears a while ago. 

"I have aspirin," he mutters. "Somewhere in my bag." 

"It's okay," Jimin says. He curls up in the passenger's seat with one knee to his chest. It looks uncomfortable, but the kid is the most flexible person Yoongi's ever met. 

The highway is empty and the countryside is dark. Oncoming headlights are a little jolt. Yoongi turns the radio on softly so as not to wake the kids. It's not late, but it was a long day, and a tiring one. It's so tiring pretending to be someone you're not.

"What are you going to do if you don't get picked to debut?" Jimin asks. 

Neither of them has said anything in a while.

"Hmm," Yoongi says. 

"Will you go to another agency?" Jimin asks. 

Yoongi shrugs. "Maybe," he says. "Maybe another opportunity will arise." 

"How did you end up auditioning, anyway?" Jimin asks. 

Yoongi has prepared this story. "A friend of mine performs at this club and the owner gave him the information. He thinks idols are kid shit, so he passed it along to me." 

"Ah," Jimin says, seemingly mollified by this answer. 

"Do you think I'm not going to make it?" Yoongi asks. He doesn't really care, except that the investigation will be fucked then. 

Jimin shakes his head. "No, I think you will make it," he says. "You're the best rapper." 

Yoongi grins. "I told you that the first day I met you, didn't I?" 

Jimin rolls his eyes. "Don't let it go to your head. I didn't say you were very good, Yoongi-ssi. I just said you were the best of this bunch." He motions his head towards the back of the car, where all the kids are still asleep.

"You think we suck," Yoongi says flatly. 

Jimin chuckles. "I don't think we suck," he says, "I just... When I agreed to work with Manager Kwak, before he introduced me to Director Seo, we had agreed on certain things. A certain way of doing things, I guess, and it's different now, and I don't know if I like it." 

"You could always leave," Yoongi says. "You've got other options, don't you?" 

Jimin shrugs. "It's not that easy," he says. He sighs loudly. "We'll be okay. I think we will, anyway." 

"You're doing half the work anyway," Yoongi says. "Why don't they hire some real instructors?" 

"Money is –" 

"Bullshit," Yoongi says. "I've seen that car that Seo's driving." 

Jimin makes a frustrated noise. "I don't have as much say in all of this as you seem to think I do," he says. "I just do what I'm told. They don't tell me much of anything. I'm trying to make it and debut, just like you are." 

Yoongi doesn't know if he believes that's true, but he doesn't feel like pressing the point. 

"We can do it," he says, not quite knowing what he means. It's half genuine sentiment, half ploy. "We can pull these kids through." 

Jimin is quiet for a moment. "Do you think so?" 

"Sure," Yoongi says, with the confidence of someone who has never had to work for anything. "How hard could it be?" 

Jimin laughs quietly. "Hard. It will be very hard, but I think you and I could make a good team." 

Yoongi smiles. "Damn right," he says. Then, after a pause, "So this means I'm gonna get picked, right?" 

Jimin shakes his head. “You know I can’t tell you that,” he says, still smiling, “but I have a good feeling, Yoongi-ssi.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Hyung!” Jungkooks face is pure elation. “We did it, hyung!” He wraps his arms around Yoongi and squeezes him, lifting Yoongi’s feet a few inches off the ground.

Yoongi gasps, “I know, kid. Good job.” He takes a shallow breath. “Now let me go so I can fucking breathe.” 

Abashed, Jungkook lets Yoongi go. “Sorry, hyung. I didn’t mean –“ 

“It’s fine,” Yoongi says gruffly. “Good job, Jungkook-ah.” He holds up a hand. Jungkook regards it for a second before giving him a powerful high-five. “Jeeze, you’re strong,” Yoongi mutters, rubbing his wrist. He could be wrong, but he’d bet Jungkook is going to be something in a few years. 

“Congratulations, hyung,” Jungkook says, eyes brimming. “I can’t believe it. We’re going to debut.” 

It’s a windy, rainy Thursday in November, and the final line up for Golden Calf Entertainment’s Island Boys has just been announced. The hot new group will feature leader, lead dancer, and lead vocal Jimin, charming main vocalist and maknae Jungkook, cool rappers Byungchul and Yoongi, pretty dancer Hyungjoon and honey vocals Wonjae. Those are Kwak’s words. Hopefully they’ll be paying someone else to do PR. 

They’re in the practice studio, and Yoongi is trying so hard to feign enthusiasm but he’s fighting a sinking feeling in his stomach instead. Kwak is beaming and singing the chorus of Heave Ho! and relating his own youthful dreams of music stardom. Seo is approximating something nearly like sincere human happiness, but there’s still an uncanny gleam in his eyes. The other trainees — the poor kids who didn’t make it don’t know how lucky they really are — are being consoled by the chosen few. Yoongi notices Jimin standing with sensitive Jiwon, comforting him with a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Byungchul is regaling everyone in earshot with his plan for world domination, which seems to involve taking over first the Korean and then international music markets on the strength of his talent, personal charisma, and devastating good looks. 

Yoongi is standing in the back of the room, part of all of this and yet not quite. How can he be, when he’s the only one who knows it’s all a lie? 

“What’s wrong, hyung?” Jungkook asks. 

Yoongi sighs. “Eh, nothing, Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi says. “I’m just a miserable old bastard.” He puts a hand around Jungkook’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s see if we can get out of here and hyung will go buy you some tteokbokki to celebrate.” 

They make their rounds and say their congratulations and are halfway down the stairs when Jimin catches them. 

“Where are you going?” he asks. 

Yoongi glances at him, an eyebrow raised. “Gonna go buy the kid something to eat,” he says. 

Jimin nods and then asks, “Can I come?” 

Jungkook beams. “You want to come too, hyungnim?” He’s still got a bad case of hero-worship for Jimin. It’s cute and kind of tragic. Yoongi knows how that works. 

“Just hyung is fine, Jungkook,” Jimin says, a bit tiredly. There are dark circles under his eyes, and he looks a little too thin, like he’s lost weight he didn’t have to spare. 

“You want to come too, hyung?” Jungkook repeats, intonation identical. 

Yoongi laughs, and Jimin does too, lopsided grin. “Sure,” he says. “Let’s go get some food.” 

They walk down the street with their hands in the pockets, shoulders hunched against the gusty wind. Yoongi’s only wearing a hoodie. It’s too thin, and he’s cold. Jimin’s nose is red. Jungkook is dancing down the sidewalk, still on cloud nine after their earlier good news. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Must be nice to have that much energy,” he mutters. “Damn kid.” 

Jimin narrows his eyes and kind of half smiles. “Feeling your age? Half forty _is_ pretty old.” 

Yoongi opens his mouth and exhales. His breath comes out in a cloud. “I’m on energy saver mode,” he says. “Permanently.” 

That gets a genuine laugh. Jimin’s laugh is cute, and the way he lets himself smile when he’s not carefully minding his face is pretty cute too. 

Goddamn. Yoongi has to stop thinking stuff like that. Jimin is twenty years old – practically a kid himself – and part of the investigation and Yoongi really doesn’t need that kind of mess. It’s been so much harder since their trip though. He still thinks about how Jimin’s hand felt in his.

“Congratulations, by the way,” Jimin says, smiling. “I didn’t think you had it in you, but I guess you proved me wrong.” 

Yoongi shrugs, easy and lax, like he never had any doubt. Fuck. He’s gonna be an _idol_. 

They’re walking side by side. He nudges Jimin with his shoulder. “What about you? Why aren’t you more excited? Isn’t this like, the culmination of fucking years of work for you?” 

Jimin is quiet for a moment. “Have you ever spent so long wanting something that by the time it happens it’s nothing at all like what you imagined?” 

Oof. Punch to the gut. Does Yoongi ever know that feeling.

“Think so,” he says, ducking his head. 

“Yeah,” Jimin says. “That.” 

Yoongi frowns. This poor damn kid. He’s been working towards this debut for years and he’s stuck with a bunch of half trained losers, singing pirate songs. “It’ll be okay,” he says lamely. 

Jimin snorts. “I’m sure it will,” he says. 

They’ve reached the food stall. Jungkook is standing in front of the steaming trays. “Hyungs, I want to get some fishcake too, and… oh, no a pancake, and one of those hotdogs on a stick, and...” 

Jimin laughs, coming up to stand beside him. “Jungkook, if you eat all of that you’ll get sick.” 

Jungkook’s face falls. Then he sighs. “You’re right,” he says. 

He’s growing up. 

Jimin smiles at him, and it’s a strange smile — full of pride and fear in some mixture that Yoongi does not understand. 

“Oh, let the kid get what he wants,” Yoongi drawls. “It’s not every day you become an official member of Island Boys.” 

Jungkook laughs, and Jimin rolls his eyes, but he sighs in a fond way and says, “Fine, fine.” And he turns then and leans forward with Jungkook, one hand on the boy’s shoulder, and it is so sweet and strange and full of some close familial feeling that Yoongi hasn’t known in a long, long time that his heart stirs and strains in a very unfamiliar way. 

*****

“Oh, hyung,” Minjoon says, “Those files you requested came in.” 

It’s a Tuesday morning and Yoongi – having lied and claimed he had doctor's appointment he couldn't miss – is at the station. He's just met with Shim and given him the latest news: Kim Yoongi has been officially selected to debut as part of Island Boys, and things are moving quickly. They've already started rehearsing 'Heave Ho!'.

Shim had demanded that Yoongi sing the song for him, so Yoongi’d glumly croaked a verse and chorus.

"I like your enthusiasm, Officer Min," Shim had said, lips twitching behind that stupid mustache. "Keep up the good work." 

Asshole. 

"Here, hyung," Minjoon says, handing Yoongi a manila envelope with a confidential seal over the flap. "Just came in this morning. I was going to call you but I figured you be stopping in today. Deokwon said he might be have some more info coming, but he wanted to send this over now.

"Thanks," Yoongi says. "Tell Deokwon I said thanks, too." 

Yoongi helps himself to a cup of the burnt office coffee before heading over to his desk. A tiny part of him feels guilty for skipping out on practice, but a bigger part of him is grateful for the break. They have dance practice every afternoon now, and vocal and rap lessons in the morning. Kwak said they all had to start working out, so Yoongi’s been going running at night. By the time he gets home he’s exhausted and sweaty. He can barely keep himself upright in the shower, and he passes out the instant his head is on the pillow. 

Sitting at his desk with his hand curled around the warm cup of coffee, savoring the heat and the aroma, feels like a luxury. 

But it is not one he can enjoy for long. He sighs and tears the seal on the envelope. Almost as soon as he was put on this case, he submitted a request for any information available on Seo Junho and Kwak Youngwon, but this is the first he's seen from that request. He takes out the sheath of photocopied papers and pages through them. Most of it isn't especially helpful. Kwak is fifty-three, was born in Ulsan, has a long rap sheet full of mostly minor larceny and fraud charges. Seo Junho is thirty-seven and is from Seoul. He graduated from some second-rate school out in the suburbs with a degree in management. His own past is apparently uncheckered but his father was arrested for embezzlement ten years ago after it was discovered he was using his property development company as his own personal bank account. 

Not particularly notable. There are a few newspaper articles, pictures of Seo's father getting hauled away in handcuffs, notice that he served twenty months behind bars. There's not much about the Seo family fortunes after that, but judging from Seo's expensive clothing and fancy cars, they must have recovered. Yoongi sets those pages aside.

The next packet is more interesting. It contains registration of corporation for Golden Calf Entertainment LLC, filed only in July. Seo Junho is listed as the sole director and stakeholder, and the company's initial share capital is recorded as ₩50,000. Not exactly flush with cash, although Yoongi had already known that. The address for Golden Calf Entertainment LLC is listed as some place out in Ilsan, nowhere near where the company is located now. What's really interesting, though, is the second registration of corporation. On that same day in Ilsan, Seo Junho had also registered Auroch Imports LTD to the same address. 

_Very_ interesting. 

Yoongi turns to the next set of papers when someone behind him clears his throat. He turns in his seat and looks up. Fuck. It's Lee. 

"I hear congratulations are in order, Officer Min," Lee says. 

"Get lost," Yoongi mutters, already spinning back around to his paperwork. 

Lee shoves a piece of paper in Yoongi's face. "Let me get your autograph, Min, before you're too much of a big shot to notice us small fry." 

Yoongi grabs the paper, crumpling it. "Fuck off," 

Lee tsks. "Is that any way for an idol to talk?" 

He walks off, laughing at his clever joke. 

Yoongi gives him the finger as he walks away. Thankfully, he doesn't see.

Sighing, Yoongi turns back to his papers. 

Auroch Imports, huh? He flips back to that page. Hmm. The initial capital investment for this company was ₩1,000,000,000. Well. That's a bit more impressive. He makes a note to email Intelligence and ask for anything else they can find about Auroch Imports. This isn't much, but at least it's something to go on. 

*****

At practice the next morning, Jungkook breaks Jimin’s phone. 

Honestly it is Jimin’s fault. The stereo system has been on the fritz, so he’s been playing ‘Heave Ho!’ from his phone. It’s sitting on the floor on the side of the room as they run through the choreo one more time. It’s nearly five o’clock. They’ve been going at it for hours. Yoongi’s thigh burns, and he has a cramp in his calf. Everyone is tired. A cool, steady rain falls outside but the room is humid and hot, windows fogged. 

Afterwards, Yoongi isn’t quite sure what happens. After the second chorus, Hyungjoon is supposed to kneel down as Wonjae circles him to come to the center for his verse. Hyungjoon kneels like he’s supposed to but he loses his balance and steadies himself with a hand to the floor. Wonjae trips over his outstretched arms and falls backwards into Byungchul, who staggers to catch him. Jungkook, right behind Byungchul and about half his size, steps out of the way and… 

Glass cracking. 

The audio doesn’t falter though. Apple makes a quality product. 

Everyone freezes.

Jungkook steps slowly away, revealing Jimin’s iPhone 6. The face is totally shattered.

“Oh shit,” Wonjae says. 

Jungkook looks up at them all, eyes wide. “Oh hyung,” he says. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to… I didn’t see where I was stepping and I thought… I’m so sorry. I’ll buy you a new phone hyungnim. I’ll—” 

Jimin’s face is pale, lips pressed into a thin line, but there are two spots of color in his cheeks. He takes a deep breath and then says. “Jungkook, it’s fine.” 

“Hyung,” Jungkook says, sounding nearly at the point of tears. “Let me—” 

“I said it’s fine,” Jimin says, voice low and hard.

He stands up and pushes his hair back from his face. “Practice is over,” he says quietly. “Be here on time tomorrow, everyone.” 

There is a moment of inertia before Byungchul blunders over to the door. Wonjae and Hyungjoon are hot on his heels. Jimin kneels down and picks up his ruined phone. He stares at it for a moment and then stands. Yoongi thinks for a second he’s going to say something – tell Jungkook not to worry again or something – but he doesn’t. He just pushes his hair back from his face and then walks out. 

Jungkook starts to cry. It’s not uncommon. It’s not even the first time Jungkook has broken down, in spite of his powerful optimism. Still, this feels different. Hot, heavy tears run down Jungkook’s red cheeks. 

“Hey,” Yoongi says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Kid, it’s okay.” 

Jungkook shakes his head. “Jimin hyung was finally coming around but now he’s gonna hate me, hyung,” he says, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. His voice shakes. “Did you see his face? He hates me.” 

Yoongi shakes his head. “No,” he says softly. “He doesn’t hate you. He was angry, but it was just an accident. Jimin’s a good guy, Jungkook. He’s not gonna hate you for something like this.” 

Jungkook nods, but he keeps crying, these great heaving sobs that make Yoongi’s throat go tight. He takes a deep breath and wraps his arms around the kid, pulling him into a hug. Jungkook presses his face to Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi can feel him tremble, so he hugs him closer, until Jungkook stills and his sobs quiet. 

It’s been a long time since Yoongi has hugged anyone. 

He can’t remember the last time, actually. Someone at his mother’s funeral maybe? 

Finally, Jungkook steps away, wiping his eyes again. “I’m sorry, hyung,” he says quietly. 

“It’s okay, kid,” Yoongi says. “Listen, you get out of here. I’ll clean up today, okay?” 

Jungkook’s eyes widen marginally. “Jimin hyung’s gonna get mad if I don’t—” 

“Let me worry about Jimin,” Yoongi says. “Go home. Actually –” 

He walks over to his bag and gets his wallet and hands Jungkook a ten thousand won bill. “Go get some hot chocolate.” 

Jungkook frowns at him. “Hot chocolate?” 

Yoongi shrugs, embarrassed suddenly. “Or whatever. I don’t care. Go get something warm to drink. Get something to eat too.” 

Jungkook smiles and shoves the crumpled bill into his pocket. “Thanks, hyung,” he says. He hesitates a moment and then hugs Yoongi again, pinning his arms to his body and squeezing all the breath out of Yoongi’s lungs. 

“Jeeze,” Yoongi says. “Don’t squash me, kid.” 

Jungkook laughs – a shallow, shaky laugh that isn’t so far off from another sob – and then turns away and wipes his eyes again. He pulls on his coat and gets his bag, and then pauses, like he’s reconsidering. 

“Get out of here, kid,” Yoongi says impatiently. “And remember – hot chocolate.” 

Jungkook smiles and ducks his head, shy, and goes. 

Grunting, thighs aching, Yoongi gets to his feet. He can hear the rain outside, the familiar city din of traffic and sirens. He gets the bottle of glass cleaner and some newspaper for the cupboard and wipes down the mirrors. Jungkook is careful, making sure to get each smudge and leave no streaks. Yoongi does a more haphazard job. Whatever. When the mirrors are clean, he gets the broom to sweep up. This is more necessary work. They track in a surprising amount of dirt and grime, and it’s a little disheartening to see the little pile of filth he sweeps up in the corner of the room. 

He crouches down to sweep the dirt into the dust pan and then dumps it in the garbage can. He puts the broom away, and then carries the garbage out to empty into the bigger can in the front room. Someone else – one of Kwan and Seo’s numerous anonymous lackies – empties that one. He dumps the garbage and is headed back to the practice room when he hears something. Two people, talking. Voices urgent but low, coming from the office. 

“…not what I signed up for,” Jimin says. He sounds angry. Shit. He really is pissed about the phone. “This is not what I fucking signed up for, hyung.” 

“Jimin,” Kwak says. “Kid, I know. I know. But you know what a good opportunity this is. When’s something like this gonna come around again? He’s been straight with us so far, Jimin-ah. What’s your problem all of a sudden?” 

Jimin makes a frustrated noise. Yoongi creeps an inch closer. He can just see Jimin through the door. His ruined phone is in his hand. 

“I don’t trust him,” Jimin says. “What the fuck is this, hyung?” 

Jimin is pointing at something on the desk, but Yoongi cannot see what it is.

“You know he’s been working with Bang,” Kwak says. “What the fuck is the problem? Why are you getting so high and mighty all of a sudden?” 

“I just don’t like it,” Jimin says. “This isn’t want we agreed on, hyung, and you know it.” 

“Yeah,” Kwak says, “Well, you’re not working with Jay anymore, kid. This what we’ve got, okay?” 

Jay – as in JYP? Damn. Yoongi had half thought that was a lie, just some braggadocio to impress the kids. 

“Don’t fucking bring up—” 

“I know,” Kwak says. “Sorry, kid. Water under the bridge.” 

“Yeah,” Jimin sighs. “Hyung, I know I agreed but I just don’t know if it’s worth it.” 

Kwak makes a frustrated noise. “It’s risky but think about what’s gonna happen if it pays off. All of your dreams, Jimin-ah. Anything you want. You’ll have it all.” 

“Yeah,” Jimin says, sulky and a bit defeated. “But—” 

As quietly as he can, Yoongi walks back to the practice room. He has pushed his luck long enough. His hands feel a little shaky. Kwak and Jimin are closer than he realized. Maybe Kwak worked with him at another agency? Is that how Jimin got mixed up in all of this? What had they been looking at? Something to do with the contracts? The contracts they all signed are industry standard – literally. They were copied from a form template widely available online. Is Seo trying to screw Jimin over? Whatever they’d been looking at, Jimin hadn’t sounded happy. He’d sounded like he was on the verge of quitting. 

If Jimin walks away, what are they going do? Bring in another kid? Yoongi’s not sure they’ll ever find anyone willing to put up with as much shit as he does.

If Jimin quits, where does that leave the case? 

Fuck. 

He puts the garbage can back and pulls on his coat and grabs his bag. He opens the door into the hall and nearly runs face first into Jimin, who frowns at him. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks. 

“I cleaned up,” Yoongi says. “Sent Jungkook home. He was really upset. What are you going to do about your phone?” 

Jimin frowns. “Huh? Oh. I don’t know yet. I have to see how much a new screen costs.” He sighs. “Thank you for taking care of Jungkook. That was really nice of you.” 

Yoongi shrugs. “He was really upset. You looked pissed.” 

Jimin sighs again, more deeply. “I didn’t mean to make him upset,” he says. He does that thing again where he pushes his hair out of his face. “It’s just been a long day.” 

“Anything you want to talk about?” Yoongi asks. 

Jimin closes his eyes for a moment. He rests one hand against the doorframe, almost like he’s using it to hold himself up. He looks bad, Yoongi things. Very tired, and too thin, with purple circles under his eyes. He looks in need of some comfort and for just a moment, Yoongi thinks he might say more.

“No,” Jimin says quietly. “No, but thank you, Yoongi-ssi. You should go home now. I’m going home too.” 

Yoongi watches him for a moment. The rain is still falling outside. He wants to push, to ask more, but something about the thin tense set of Jimin’s mouth dissuades him. “Okay, Jimin,” he says. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, Yoongi-ssi,” Jimin says, and he spares Yoongi a wan smile before disappearing back into the practice room. 

*****

The next day, Yoongi hangs behind when Jimin calls the break for lunch. “Hey,” Yoongi says. “Come here for a second.” 

Jimin frowns at him. “What?” 

The kids are already downstairs. Jimin is taking everyone out for pizza today – Jungkook’s favorite. Yoongi isn’t sure if it’s intentional or not, but if it is, it’s a nice gesture. 

Yoongi digs in his backpack for a second and brings out the plastic bag. “Here,” he says, shoving it at Jimin.

Jimin takes it, frowning. “What is this?” 

“Open it up and see,” Yoongi mutters. 

Jimin opens the bag and takes out the box inside. Yoongi had gone after practice last night all the way to the new Apple store in Garosugil and bought a new iPhone X. It had been an impulse. He’d been halfway home and thinking about that sad, thin veneer of control on Jimin’s face, when he’d gotten off the train and gotten back on going the other way. The bad weather and late hour kept everyone away. He poked at the display models for a few moments before an intimidatingly professional store employee came over to help him. He’d asked for the newest model phone – the best they had. It was expensive, but he had the company card; Superintendent Shim is picking up the tab. 

“What’s this?” Jimin asks, confused. 

“It’s for you,” Yoongi says, annoyed. 

Jimin tilts his head, looks at him with some amazement. “I can’t accept this,” he says, handing the box back to Yoongi. 

Yoongi folds his arms over his chest. “Why not?” 

“It’s so expensive,” Jimin mutters, staring down at the box in his hands. 

Yoongi shrugs. “It’s not a big deal,” he says. “I just know how shitty it is to be without a phone. Uh. I dropped mine in a pool last year. Had to go without for two days. It was awful.” 

Jimin’s eyes are cold, considering, but his mouth twitches into a semblance of a smile. “Sounds like quite an ordeal.” 

“Fuck off,” Yoongi mutters. “I was trying to do something nice. It’s not like getting your screen fixed is cheap.” 

Jimin says very little about his life outside of Golden Calf, but Yoongi is not under the impression that he has a lot of extra cash. He dresses simply and never shows off fancy brands like Byungchul does. He doesn’t seem to have a car, and a few times he’s had to end practice early to head off to some ambiguous ‘work’. 

“You didn’t need to do this,” Jimin says again, turning the box over in his hand. “Really, Yoongi-ssi.” 

“I just wanted to help you,” Yoongi says. The words capture some earnest sentiment he would rather have kept hidden. 

Jimin doesn’t relent. “It’s too much,” he says.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Just take the phone,” he says. 

Jimin looks like he’s about to refuse again, but Jungkook pokes his head back through the door then. “Hyungs,” he says, “what are you doing? Byungchul hyung says we’re going to leave without you.” 

“Coming, Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi says, zipping his bag and standing up.

Jimin hesitates a moment longer. He’s still holding the phone. 

“Don’t keep the kid waiting,” Yoongi says. “You pay for lunch, if it’ll make you feel better.” 

Jimin pauses in the door. He puts a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder and leans close. “When I need your help, Yoongi-ssi, you will know,” he says quietly, “but thank you.” 

“Come _on_ ,” Jungkook calls from the bottom of the stairs. “They’re going to order _Hawaiian_ if we hurry up. Pineapple is gross!” 

Jimin huffs out a laugh. “We can’t have that,” he says. “Come on, Yoongi-ssi.” 

Yoongi follows him down the stairs, a little dazed, feeling the soft weight of Jimin’s hand on his shoulder still. 

*****

“I have to say, hyung,” Hoseok say, looking Yoongi up and down. “I think trainee life is agreeing with you.” 

Yoongi gives him the finger and takes a long sip of his beer. 

Namjoon laughs, head thrown back. “No,” he says. “No, he’s right. You look good. You even cut your hair. Damn, Min Yoongi, you’re like a new man.” 

Yoongi runs his hand self-consciously over his hair, freshly cut so that it’s long on the top and shaved underneath. “Fuck you.” 

He gives them both the finger. 

Hoseok drops the pizza box he’s carrying on the coffee table and sits down on the couch. 

It’s a Friday night, and for what feels like the first time in a year, Yoongi isn’t at practice or asleep. Namjoon invited them over for pizza and beer and video games, and even though Yoongi isn’t supposed to have the first two and is fucking terrible at the latter he’d agreed to come. He wants to be Min Yoongi again, even if just for a couple of hours.

“Jesus,” he says. “I came here thinking I’d be among friends, and you two start giving me shit the minute I walk through the door.” 

Hoseok, wide eyed, protests, “Who’s giving you shit? Geeze, try to compliment the guy and he bites your head off!” 

“This is official police business, remember,” Yoongi says, blandly. “I’m not actually going to be an idol.” 

“Oh yeah?” Namjoon says. “What about that photoshoot you had the other day? Sparkly shirts, I think you said?” 

“Goddamnit,” Yoongi says. He is trying to block that particular memory from his mind. 

Hoseok’s eyes go wider. “Hyung, you had a photoshoot and you didn’t send me the pictures? I’m hurt.” 

“What pictures? I’ve never had my picture taken in my life.” Yoongi closes his eyes and feels despair saturate his entire being. 

Namjoon rolls his eyes, but Hoseok is faster and sneakier, that bastard. He comes up behind the chair Yoongi is sitting in and grabs for Yoongi’s phone. Yoongi’s hand slips, but he keeps a tenuous grasp and they engage in a weird tug of war until Yoongi overbalances and rolls head over heels over the arm of the chair, landing hard on his back. 

Hoseok and Namjoon both laugh, Namjoon so hard that his face turns bright red, which just sets Hoseok off laughing harder. Yoongi moans and rolls on the ground. “You broke my back, Hoseok, you asshole.” 

It’s too late though. Namjoon knows Yoongi’s passcode, and they’ve already found the pictures. Now Namjoon is laughing so hard is face is almost _purple_. Hoseok is cooing. 

“Awww,” he says. “You’re adorable, hyung! The blue really goes well with your complexion.” 

Yoongi covers his face with his hands and groans. 

The laughter quiets. Suspicious, Yoongi sits up. What are those fuckers looking at now? 

“Okay, okay,” he says. “Ha ha ha. That’s enough. Give me back my phone.” 

He stands, rubbing his back, and tries to push in between Hoseok and Namjoon. They don’t budge, the big oafs, so Yoongi settles on tenuously perching on the back of the couch, leaning over their shoulders. They’re still looking at pictures from the photoshoot, but this isn’t one of the professional shots. It’s a selfie that Jungkook had taken on Yoongi’s phone — Jungkook beaming in the foreground, and Jimin smiling behind him, cool and collected, and Yoongi in the back, feigning surly reluctance. 

“Who are they, hyung?” Hoseok asks. He points at Jimin. “He’s cute.” 

Yoongi frowns. “That’s the leader. Jimin. He’s not cute. He’s a sneaky bastard.” 

Namjoon looks at him, eyebrows raised.

"Seriously," Yoongi protests. "He's this dance prodigy – you’d probably love him, Hoseok – but they have him practically managing the group. I think he knows more than he’s saying, but every time I think I’ve gotten through to him he clams up and does this cold professional act. It’s really fucking annoying." 

"Sounds like someone is getting under your skin,” Hoseok says, deliberately. 

Yoongi whacks him in the head with a throw pillow. 

"I'm being serious here," he says, annoyed. "If he’d tell me what he knows I bet I’d be able to get some real dirt on Seo, but he’s just like the rest of them. All he cares about is debuting. He’s willing to put up just about anything as long as they let him stand on stage and sing.” 

"The outfits aren’t that bad, hyung,” Hoseok says cheerfully. “I think they’re kind of… cheerful.” 

That is a generous assessment. Jimin had been wearing a yellow sequin vest over his puffy white shirt and black pantaloons. He put on a brave face, but Yoongi can see the dead look of horror in his eyes. Whatever Jimin’s dreams are, pirate costumes are not it. 

“These kids are desperate,” Namjoon says. “They’ll do just about anything. Believe me, I see it all the time. Even the kids that make it.” 

“Yeah,” Yoongi mutters. How much is Jimin willing to do to make it? He doesn’t want to think about it. He takes his phone back from Namjoon and drops heavily back into the chair. "Aren't we supposed to be eating pizza?" 

Distracted by food and then an epic Mario Kart showdown, Namjoon and Hoseok let the topic slide, but Yoongi is distracted and irritable. How much trouble has Jimin gotten himself into? How much does he know? If he can just get Jimin to tell him what he needs to know, maybe they can both get out of this with their skin – and dignity – intact. 

*****

"I think we're making really good progress, everyone," Jimin says. 

Jungkook grins. "We look really good thanks to you, hyung." 

Jimin smiles, pleased and a little amused. A week has passed since the phone incident, and it seems nearly forgotten. Peaceful relations are restored.

"You've all worked hard," he says. "We're going to end a little bit early today. I have to work." He grimaces, and everyone laughs. The kids scramble for their coats and bags, eager for any second of reclaimed free time they can get. 

Yoongi is pulling on his coat when he suddenly has an idea. He’s been looking for a way to get into the office ever since he overheard Jimin and Kwak talking. Everyone else has gone for the evening. It’s just the trainees alone here now. 

"Jimin," he says, "I was going to stay late and get a little extra practice in." 

Jimin narrows his eyes, suspicious. "You were?" 

Yoongi huffs. "What? I can't stay and practice late?" 

"You can," Jimin says slowly. "I'd expect that from Jungkook, though. Not you." 

"I'm turning over a new leaf," Yoongi says, dryly. "If you have to leave, just give me the code. I'll lock up when I’m done. Come on. You can trust me." 

Jimin looks at him, intent and focused. His dark eyes are bright. He seems on the verge of saying something but doesn't. A month ago, Yoongi wouldn’t even have bothered asking Jimin for the code, but things have softened between them. Jimin is still using the new phone. It’s time to see how far this new trust extends. “Five six three two,” Jimin says quietly. "Just don't forget to lock up.” 

Jackpot. 

Yoongi represses a smile. 

The rest of the kids pack up and leave. Jungkook bemoans the fact that he has to go wash dishes, one of his seemingly myriad part time jobs, and can't stay with Yoongi for extra practice. 

"I'll stay late with you next time," Yoongi assures him. 

Jimin is the last to go. He lingers in the doorway for a moment, watching Yoongi move through the choreography. 

"You're getting better," he says quietly. And then he leaves.

Yoongi keeps practicing for another half an hour. It's not like he really cares, but whatever. It's a good cover and it's not like extra practice hurts. After a while, though, his moves become lazier and his attention drifts and the next time the track ends, he doesn't restart it. He waits without moving and listens. It's eight o'clock, and the building must be nearly empty now. Yoongi quietly opens the door.

Down the hall, he glances into the reception area. Of course, nobody's there. Quickly and with experience, he shifts through the papers on the desk. Mostly nothing – receipts for lunch and invoices from the beauty salon and skin clinic the boys go to. This isn't want he wants. 

He goes to the second office in the suite. It's nominally Kwak's office, but he doesn't really seem like the paperwork type. Yoongi tries the handle and is a little shocked to see it's not locked. These idiots. Slowly, he steps inside. Same generic furniture as the rest of the suite. There's a neat stack of files on the desk. Yoongi reaches for the top file and opens it. It is an email from a certain Bang Wooyoung, managing director of Auroch Imports, LTD. 

Shit. 

This isn’t what he’d been expecting, but it’s better. Thoughts of whatever got Jimin so upset are forgotten. This is what he’s been looking for.

Yoongi takes a picture. He opens the next folder and takes a picture of that. It’s an invoice for an order of – what? Purses? What the fuck? Delivered last week, apparently, to an address he doesn’t know. There are more invoices, emails from this Bang Wooyoung guy, shipping records. As quickly as he can, Yoongi opens each folder and takes a picture of the top page. None of this makes sense. Seo is running a whole import/export operation here, with real money involved. What’s he doing fooling around with _idols_ when he’s got this other gig going on? He comes to the last folder and then neatens the stack. He opens the drawers. Empty. Empty. Empty. Shit. The computer is locked and Yoongi doesn’t know the password. Damn. He’s never been very good with technology and –

Wait. 

He freezes. Down the hall, a door opens and then closes audibly. 

Fuck. Who else knows the code? Jimin? Seo? Kwak? The man who dozes at reception all day? 

Yoongi steps towards the door. He glances back towards the desk and realizes that there's one folder out of skew with the rest. Motherfucker. 

He steps back to the desk. He can't hear anything else down the hall. Maybe it was a false alarm. Maybe it was someone working late in one of the other offices on this floor, someone who had stepped out for a cup of coffee and let the door slam behind them on the way back. in Maybe ... 

As Yoongi straightens the errant folder, he hears the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. 

His heart misses five fucking beats. Shit. If he doesn't get shot, he's going to give himself a heart attack. 

He folds the paper up and shoves it in his pocket. He isn't a big guy, and not too strong either, but he knows some hand to hand combat and maybe if he takes whoever the fuck this is unawares he can use surprise to his advantage. Tackle them and grab the gun, if there is one, and then he can handle himself. He walks quickly to the door and pauses. Yoongi's eyes aren't great. He has glasses he should wear but he doesn't. He peers down the dark hall. 

Nothing he can see, not that that means much. 

He's going to get himself killed because he's too fucking vain to wear glasses. 

Nice going, Min Yoongi. Nice run you've had. 

He closes his eyes. It's probably just Kwak come back to the studio to compose a waltz about Dokdo or something. 

Or maybe it's nothing. Maybe the stress is just getting him. Auditory hallucinations. Yeah.

He counts to thirty, an interminable wait. He doesn't hear anything else. 

He steps into the hall and shuts the door. 

Behind him, very close, a gun cocks. 

Yoongi swallows. He's going to have to wing this. Without turning, he says, "Manager Kwak, I was just looking for..." 

Laughter. Familiar. Definitely not Kwak. 

Yoongi turns around. 

Motherfucker. Standing a few yards down the hall, pointing a gun straight at Yoongi, is Park fucking Jimin.

He smiles. 

"Find what you were looking for, Officer Min?" 

Oh shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're about a third of the way through and I'm dying to know what people think so far! Did you suspect Jimin? I'd love to know!!


	7. Chapter 7

"Go down the stairs," Jimin says. "Don't say anything." 

Yoongi's heart pounds in his chest. Jesus motherfucking Christ. Jimin knows. Jimin knows he's a cop. Jimin – is Jimin even his real fucking name? – Jimin is going to put a bullet in his skull and dump him in the Han River. Fuck. 

They go down the stairs fast, out through the lobby and onto the street. It's a cold night and windy, and Yoongi is not wearing his coat.

"Right," Jimin says, voice cold. "Two blocks.” 

Yoongi walks just in front of Jimin. He can't see what Jimin has done with the gun but they're walking down a crowded Seoul street and nobody's screaming in alarm, so he must have it hidden. Yoongi wonders if he should try to do what he'd planned before, in the hall. He could turn, tackle Jimin, go for the gun... 

Jesus. There are people everywhere. Someone could get hurt. 

He can't risk it. 

They go two blocks, headed away from the main street. At the intersection, Jimin directs him. "We're going to cross, and then cross again." 

Yoongi starts to turn, to look back at him, but Jimin instructs, "Don't look at me. Keep your face forward." 

He sounds calm and serious, just like he does when he’s telling Wonjae how to do some move for the fourth time. 

Yoongi is white hot angry and fucking terrified. He's been in danger before, but never like this. He got cocky and took a risk he never should have taken and now he’s fucked. 

He can see the headline now: 'Cop taken down by Idol Trainee; Metropolitan Police Investigation in Ruins'. 

Jesus. Some legacy. 

He closes his eyes and nearly trips over some invisible ripple in the sidewalk. 

"Watch it," Jimin says. "Watch where you're going." 

They turn a few more corners, heading back into a neighborhood of old houses and industrial buildings. Yoongi isn’t totally sure where they are. Each block of cement slab buildings and shabby shops looks the same. He thinks they’ve gone five blocks. No. Fuck. It’s six. He can’t remember. Damnit. He needs to pay closer attention, but it’s hard when it feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest. 

He nearly falls on his face again when Jimin grabs him by the shoulder and says, "Stop. We’re here."

He takes a set of keys from his pocket and unlocks a glossy black coupe parked curbside.

Yoongi frowns. 

Jimin stares at him, dark eyes, unreadable expression. 

"Get in," he says. 

Yoongi doesn’t see that he has any option but to obey. 

They drive fast through the city streets. Jimin turns on the radio – generic pop hits, idol music Yoongi probably would know if being an idol were actually his dream. His hand is in his pocket, on his phone. He could place an emergency call right now, get someone on their tail. If he does that, is there any chance he gets out of this alive? 

"Seems like a lot of trouble," he says quietly. 

Jimin looks over at him. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. 

"What?" 

"Driving me all the way out here to off me," Yoongi says. His voice is steady. His hands aren't shaking too badly. 

Jimin snorts. "Calm down," he says. "I'm not going to kill you." 

"Why should I believe that? That sure as hell didn’t look like a toy guy, Jimin. Is that even your name? Why should I believe anything you say?”

Jimin shakes his head. "I didn't lie about my name, _Min_ Yoongi." 

“What the fuck do you want then?” Yoongi fingernails dig into his palms. Tense. 

"I'll explain when we get where we’re going," Jimin says. "Not yet." 

What the fuck. 

They cross the river. Traffic is bad. Yoongi stares out the window at the ghostly lights, obscure and blurred behind a yellow evening haze. 

They drive for a long time before they stop. Yoongi’s hands are clenched on his knees. Jimin looks forward, saying nothing. Sugary pop music blares from the radio. The traffic is bad. They get caught on the freeway and sit while an accident is clears. Car horns blare. Yoongi’s head aches. Finally, they’re free of the traffic and moving again. They drive for maybe five minutes before Jimin takes an exit into a quiet, residential neighborhood. Outside of Seoul now, but not far. People here commute into the city. It’s a happy neighborhood with shops and apartment buildings, hagwons and doctors’ offices, the home of prosperous professionals. 

They park in front of a well-kept but older building. Jimin gets out of the car and motions for Yoongi to do the same. They head towards the lobby. Is this Seo's place? Doesn't seem nearly fancy enough. He would have figured the director for something a hell of a lot flashier, in one of the up-and-coming areas south of the river. This is a middle management building in a middle management neighborhood.

They take the elevator to the fourth floor and down the hall. At apartment 406, Jimin stops and enters the passcode. He opens the door onto a well-furnished but spare apartment that looks strangely untouched. There are no shoes near the door, no mail sitting on the counter. It doesn’t look like a home. It looks like a fucking hotel suite. 

"Where are we?" Yoongi asks. "This is Seo's place? Or Kwak's? What the fuck is going on, Jimin?" 

Jimin shakes his head and laughs. "It's mine," he says. "Do you want a drink?" 

Yoongi doesn’t respond. Does he want a fucking drink? Yes, but now is not the time. 

Jimin just shrugs when he doesn’t answer and walks to the kitchenette. Yoongi gets up to keep an eye on what he's doing. The gleaming chrome fridge is all but empty. There's a bottle of tonic water and a few limes and a couple of bottles of liquor. Jimin takes two heavy-bottomed high ball glasses from a cabinet. He makes the drinks with practiced efficiency: ice from the freezer, three cubes each, and then pouring a generous shot of gin over the ice and topping it off with tonic water. He slices one of the limes neatly and drops a wedge into each glass.

Jimin holds one of the glasses out to Yoongi. 

Yoongi stares at the drink. Bubbles fizz and pop. Jimin’s hand is small and soft, but it is the same hand that held a gun aimed at Yoongi’s back without shaking. 

Yoongi takes the glass, but he does not drink. A bead of condensation runs down his wrist and onto his sleeve.

Jimin brushes past him on his way back to the couch. He moves with the same grace here that he does in the practice room, but there is something colder and more controlled about it now. 

Fuck. 

Yoongi takes a step back. 

Jimin sighs, sounding tired. “Sit down,” he says. “You’re making me nervous, Yoongi-ssi.” 

Yoongi is frozen in place in the middle of the room. Jimin lounges on the couch, almost at ease, one leg crossed over the other. 

" _I’m_ making _you_ nervous? What the fuck do you want, Jimin?" 

Jimin looks up. Half his face is shadowed behind his hair. 

He smiles, baring those white teeth.

“Our means are different, Yoongi-ssi, but we have the same goal in mind. I want to help you take down Seo.” 

*****

"Twenty-five?" Yoongi can't believe it. "Fuck. You're kidding me." 

Jimin raises an eyebrow. "Why would I lie about my age now? Besides, you passed yourself off as twenty." 

"And fuck knows how I managed that," Yoongi mutters. "You're seriously twenty-five?" 

Jimin makes a disgruntled face. "I know I look young, okay? That's part of how we pulled it off." 

It seems pretty obvious in retrospect. Even in this clown college of an operation, why would they let a twenty-year-old trainee have quite so much authority? But then, why would they have let a twenty-year-old trainee in on their scheme? That was the part that had never made sense.

But Jimin isn't twenty, and he's not a trainee. 

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut. "You've been in on this from the start.”

“Yes,” Jimin says. 

Yoongi looks at him. Jimin doesn’t smile.

Yoongi feels like he’s going to be sick. 

“Why am I here, Jimin? Why did you kidnap me and drag me all the way out here? What the fuck do you want me from me?” 

Jimin shakes his head. "I didn't kidnap you. I just wanted to talk somewhere I could be sure no one would be listening." 

"You didn't need to point a gun at my back to get me to talk." 

Jimin shrugs. "I wanted to make sure you'd come with me." 

Jesus. That is cold, harsh logic.

Jimin stands up suddenly then and Yoongi dives to the side, half expecting to smell singed hair and smoke, but Jimin isn’t going for the gun still holstered under his arm. 

Jimin grins at him, lopsided and amused. “Sorry,” he says. He takes the gun out of its holster and sets it on the coffee table.

Yoongi picks himself up off the floor, feeling like an idiot. 

"Better?" 

Yoongi nods. His heart is still pounding in his chest. 

“I’m serious,” Jimin says. “You want to bring Seo down and I can help you. I’ve been in on this since the beginning. I know – they told me a lot, okay, and I’ve found out more, but there are things I don’t know. Information you have access to. Tax records. Property sales. Import manifests.” 

Yes, Yoongi does have access to that kind of information, and he hasn’t been able to make sense of any of it.

“How'd you even know I was a cop?" 

Jimin sets his drink down on the table. He smiles. "You've been pretty careful," he admits, "but not that careful. You impressed Kwak and Seo with your rap and your boasting, but I knew there was something off about you. Not that many twenty-year-old boy group hopefuls listen to old Epik High. I was curious so followed you one day after practice. I got the address of your building, called the owner, and said I was with the gas company and had to come into your unit to inspect the meter. He gave me your phone number so that I could arrange to come at a time that was most convenient for you." 

"Fuck," Yoongi mutters. "Goddamn it. There are goddamn privacy laws for a fucking reason.”

Jimin's little smirk is infuriating. He obviously doesn’t care much what’s legal and what’s not.

"Once I had your number, it wasn't that hard to figure out the rest.” He shakes his head. "Min Yoongi isn’t a very common name. Kyunghee University doesn’t have any students by that name. I assumed that you might be lying about your age, but still, it wasn’t very hard to narrow it down.” 

He looks entirely too pleased at his sleuthing. Yoongi curses. He should have been more careful. Fuck. 

“You are a dancer, though, right? I mean, I know fuck all about dance, and even I can tell you’ve had training.” 

Jimin nods, frowning. “I was a dancer. I really did train to be an idol, for a while. I’ve been a lot of things. Most of them aren’t the kind of thing you want to put on your resume, though.” 

They stare at each other for a long moment and then Jimin sighs. "I’m a con artist. Just small stuff, confidence schemes, nothing major. I do other things too. Find things out. Do things that need to be done, things that people don’t want to do themselves. Anyway, a few years back I was down in Ulsan when I saw this whole line of kids queuing up outside a shopping center. I asked one of them what they were waiting for, and they said it was an audition. You had to pay ₩50,000 just for the privilege."

He takes a long sip of his drink and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and then laughs, rough and a little sad. "They were desperate. You could smell it on them. I guess it was a pretty low thing to do, but they were desperate, and desperate people are easy marks, Yoongi-ssi.” He shakes his head. 

Yoongi narrows his eyes. It’s an awful thing to do – taking advantage of kids. "So, you held auditions and suckered these kids into paying for training, then disappeared?" 

Jimin frowns. "It sounds terrible when you say it like that." He sighs. "Close, but not exactly. It was just me and Kwak first, and a few of his guys. I've known him for years. He's annoying but harmless, and he's got those flashy manners, those flashy clothes." He rolls his eyes. "That kind of thing impresses kids." 

Yoongi rolls his eyes. Kwak is every inch the petty criminal he seems but he can see how kids would be impressed. 

"We set up our first operation in Busan," Jimin says. "Worked well enough. I always played the part of one of the trainees." He frowns at Yoongi. "You have to understand, Yoongi-ssi. I didn't want to take advantage of just anyone. I always looked out for the rich kids, the ones whose parents didn't care about throwing away a few million won. I found six kids. We took their deposits and fees for training, and after a month we closed up shop." He looks up and smiles. "It worked perfectly. So, we did it again.” 

Yoongi leans forward, frowning. "How did Seo get involved? He wasn’t working with you in Ulsan, was he?" 

“No,” Jimin says. "Seo Junho comes from dirty money. His dad was involved in some bad stuff out in Bangbaedong. Bribery and fraud. Worse, according to the rumors I’ve heard. He got sent to jail, but they bought off the judge and the sentence was reduced to six months.” 

“Yeah,” Yoongi says. “I saw something about that. The old man got put away for embezzlement, though, didn’t he?” 

Jimin looks him in the eye. “Like I said. They bought off the judge. Anyway. He’s got an older brother that took over the family business. Our Director Seo is the black sheep of the family. He was down in Ulsan on business and met Kwak at some cheap gambling hall He bought Kwak some drinks, got to talking, and of course Kwak spilled his guts. Idiot. Seo talked big. He knew some investors from overseas who wanted to pour some money into an entertainment company with a promising group.” He shrugs. “I thought our thing was working fine. We weren't making a fortune, but it was easy money. Kwak has always dreamed big. It wasn’t enough for him.” He makes an exasperated little noise in the back of his throat. “He’s not any smarter than he looks, you know.” 

Yoongi watches Jimin for a moment: his boyish, smooth-cheeked face, the long shock of hair that always falls in front of his eye, the petulant set of his full lips. He looks, mostly, like the kid Yoongi thought him to be. Definitely not anything like a criminal mastermind – even a small scale one. It is only in the perfectly practiced blankness of his expression – a blankness he can turn on and off at will – that Yoongi can see the truth of his words. Some truth, anyway, beyond the facade of the prickly, perfectionist idol trainee.

“Why’d you go along with them? Why didn’t you get out?” 

“It wouldn’t work without me,” he says. 

He’s right. Jimin is the lynchpin that holds this operation together. 

“How much did they promise you? What did Seo offer?”

“A billion,” Jimin says, casually. 

Yoongi almost laughs.

“Yeah,” Jimin says, smiling, like he realizes how absurd it sounds. “I mean. With that much money I could get out of this business for good. So.” 

A billion won. Damn. More money that Yoongi’ll ever have, that’s for sure. 

“What’s Seo done that’s so awful you’re willing to give up a billion won?”

Jimin narrows his eyes. “I don’t trust him,” he says. “I never did. I shouldn’t have gone along with it in the first place, but … I don’t trust him, Yoongi-ssi.” He squeezes his eye shut. “There’s too much money. What foreign investor is going to pour billions and billions of won into some no-name entertainment company debuting a group of untalented jokers? It doesn’t make sense. He’s mixed up in something dangerous, and I want out.”

“Quit, then,” Yoongi says, frowning. “Why don’t you just walk away, Jimin? Tell them you don’t want to do it. Trainees leave all the time.” 

“This isn’t a game,” Jimin says slowly. “I’m not really a trainee. If I walk away…” His eyes cut to the gun resting on the table. 

Oh. 

Jimin’s cheeks get red. “Seo is playing some other game. I’ve heard him talking, seen some paperwork, but what I know doesn’t add up. He trusts me though. They still trust me. Between what you know and what I can find out, we can bring him down.” 

Yoongi narrows his eyes. “And you get immunity.” 

Jimin doesn’t deign to answer. That is a given, of course. If he sings, they’ll let him go free. 

But they have to get their man first. 

Kidnapping and fraud. Threatening a police officer. Illegal possession of firearms. He could go to a court now and get an arrest warrant for Park Jimin. Inspector Shim would have his culprit. Case closed. 

“Why shouldn’t I just arrest you?” Yoongi asks. “You’ve admitted this was your idea.” 

The gun is still sitting on the table between them. They do not look at it. 

Jimin frowns. “You _know_ there’s more to this than just Island Boys. Seo is … fuck. He’s awful. You’d bring me down on some bullshit fraud charge and let him walk?” 

Yoongi doesn’t want to do that, but he knows it would be the easiest thing. The right thing even. Shim just wants one man, and Yoongi has one for him. 

“I’m not here to help you weasel your way out of whatever mess you’ve gotten yourself in, Jimin. My superintendent thinks this investigation is a waste of time. I wouldn’t even be here except you pissed off some kid with a golden spoon. I need to make an arrest and bring this case to a close. Tell me why the fuck the person I arrest shouldn’t be you.” 

Jimin watches him quietly. He's got so much control. It's fucking uncanny. Yoongi lets the anger burn through his paper mask of apathy when he's not paying attention, and that's what gets him in trouble. Better to stay quiet and doing the right, boring thing. Better to feel nothing at all than this weird queasy churn of hate and want and horror and amusement. 

“Do you think I’m a bad person, Yoongi-ssi?” 

A bad person? Jimin has done bad things, surely. He has admitted as much. He is a criminal. He has lied and stolen and probably worse. He knew how to use that gun.

But what the fuck does Yoongi know about good and bad? He has never known. The best person in his life turned out to be the worst. What he knows is that he likes Jimin, more than he’s liked anyone in a long time. It is a small, stupid, shameful thing, but Yoongi can’t help it. He can’t help but remember how Jimin’s soft-palmed hand had felt in his as they clung to each other on that damned ride.

It has been a long, long time since anyone pierced the grey fog around Yoongi’s heart. He is not a strong enough man to walk away from that. 

“I don’t care what kind of person you are, Park Jimin,” Yoongi says, “but I want Seo. Tell me what you know.” 

Jimin smiles, wicked and beautiful. He raises his glass. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes. Fucking dramatic asshole. But he raises his own glass and it rings loud and sharp against Jimin’s. 

“To our partnership,” Jimin says. 

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, stomach twisting into even tighter knots. “To us.” 

The drink is bitter and sweet on his tongue. 

*****

Superintendent Shim has a cold. His nose is red, his eyes are cloudy, and he's got an evil look on his face. For his comfort, the heat in the office has been turned up high. Yoongi is sweating in his uniform jacket.

"That's it?" Shim tosses the sheath of papers he'd been reading onto the vast empty plain of his desk. 

Yoongi swallows. "I put in a request for information about the customs records for the products they're importing. I've got some very promising leads, sir. I know it's taken time, but maintaining my cover isn't exactly a fu – a walk in the park." 

Shim's scowl deepens. "I've given you a lot of leeway in this investigation, Officer Min. I've show you a level of trust that frankly I don't think you've done anything to deserve. I understand the complex nature of this investigation, but I want to remind you of something. We're investigating this group because of a complaint by someone with a _lot_ of influence. He could make things very uncomfortable for all of us, and he wants answers.”

Fuck. Yeah, he gets it. Nobody actually cares about what happens to these kids. This is just some rich asshole’s little power trip. 

Shim blows his nose loudly. Outside, a car horn blares. 

"I understand, Superintendent," Yoongi says. "I hope to have more information for you next time. This is an important case. When we do bring this group to justice, we will have protected the dreams of a lot of kids." 

Shim snorts. "Dreams? Singing and dancing nonsense is more like it." He puts both hands on the desk and leans forward. "Get me something concrete, Officer Min. I want to make an arrest and be done with this." He coughs. Spittle flies. Yoongi barely resists recoiling in disgust. "I want this to be a success – for both of us, Officer Min." 

Yoongi's fingernails dig into the meat of his palm. This motherfucking pompous asshole. "I understand, sir," he says. 

Shim's eyes are narrow. "Good," he says. "The next time you report to me, I expect to hear that you've made substantial and concrete progress. I expect to hear that arrests are imminent. Do you understand?" 

Yoongi nods, unspeaking, and stands up. He salutes. He's so angry that he's shaking. He’s not sure why he thought Shim might care about doing the right thing by these kids but hearing him say so plainly that he’s only doing this as a _favor_ makes Yoongi’s blood boil. 

Asshole, Yoongi thinks. Self-righteous, pompous asshole. You’re just as bad as all the rest of them.

Shim sneers at him for a moment, and then reaches for a tissue and sneezes loudly again. "Dismissed," he says, in a nasal, congested voice. 

*****

"No," Jimin says frowning. "Yoongi, you're coming in too late. Let's try it again." 

Yoongi scowls. "I'm not late. Byungchul is too early." 

Jimin, arms folded and expression flat, doesn't respond. 

Goddamn punk. 

Yoongi sighs. "Fine. I was late. Let's try it again." 

They all shuffle back into place and the music starts again. 

It's not like Yoongi thought things were suddenly going to be different – that would defeat the fucking purpose, after all – but somehow Jimin's judgement grates worse now. He's not really some prodigy. He's not even going to debut. He's a fake, a phony. Talent aside, he's no different than Yoongi is. 

But they've got to keep up the act for now. 

Three days since Jimin fucking kidnapped him. He'll keep calling it that in spite of Jimin's objections. Maybe because of them. Three days since Jimin came clean, and since they agreed, uneasily, to work together. 

It's not like Yoongi thought he'd be busting into Seo's office in full SWAT gear the next morning, but he'd expected _something_ to happen. Instead it's just been more of the same – rap lessons, dance practice, torture at the gym, dance practice, visits to the dermatologist, more dance practice. It's easier now – he's in better shape and the dancing lessons must be doing something because in spite of what Jimin said he wasn't fucking late – but he's got less patience.

They met at Jimin’s strange, sterile apartment again last night and reviewed the information Yoongi took from the office and what he’s gotten from intelligence. Jimin knows the name Bang Woohyun. According to Jimin he’s a guy with lots of ties to organized crime, someone skilled in moving money around and cleaning even the dirtiest lucre. It was this Bang Woohyun’s involvement that Jimin had fought about with Kwak, the day Yoongi had overheard them in the office.

But all Jimin knows about Bang Woohyun is his name. His name, and the rumors. He's got some lines out, he's got some things in the work, and he’s going to try to track the guy down.

Sounds like fucking bullshit to Yoongi, but what else does he have to go on? 

In the meanwhile, Yoongi has asked Intelligence for anything and everything then can dig up on Auroch LTD and these purses they’re supposedly importing. He knows things are in motion, but he hates this waiting. He is ready for action.

They run through Heave Ho! again. Yoongi's heard it so many times now it's almost starting to not sound terrible. Or his brain is turning into mush. Might be that too. Nobody fucks up too badly this time and when the music ends, Jimin nods. 

"Much better," he says. 

He meets Yoongi's gaze in the mirror, and smirks. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes. Jimin's smirk turns into a real smile, just for a moment, bright and wide. 

Little asshole.

"You're doing well, Jungkook-ah," Jimin says, one hand on Jungkook's shoulder.

The kid looks up at him, wide-eyed and tremulous. "Really, hyungnim?" 

Jimin nods. "Jungkook, just call me hyung. I told you that already." 

Jungkook nods. "Okay, hyung." 

Jimin shakes his head. "Go sweep up. Yoongi and I will help you wipe down the mirrors." 

"Hey," Yoongi protests. He's on the ground trying to stretch out a cramp in his thigh. 

Jimin stands over him, staring. "You don't want to help the maknae?" 

Yoongi looks up at him. Weird angle, but even Jimin's nostrils look kind of cute. 

Fuck. He's losing it. 

He looks down quickly, ignoring the damp, white tee shirt sticking to his chest. Problem with looking down quickly is that he's basically staring at Jimin's crotch. 

Yoongi swallows. Jimin makes a kind of annoyed little noise in the back of his throat and holds out a hand. Yoongi wipes his sweaty palm on his thigh and takes it, and with more strength than Yoongi expects Jimin pulls him to his feet. 

"Play nice and help Jungkook," he says. "I thought you wanted me to take it easier on him." 

Yoongi shrugs. "Doesn't mean _I_ want extra chores," he mumbles, but he doesn't protest when Jimin hands him the bottle of cleaner and the roll of paper towels. 

It's done quickly enough. They wipe down all the mirrors and put away the equipment, and Jungkook is almost done sweeping up. Jimin watches him quietly, arms folded. 

"Must be weird," Yoongi says, zipping up his jacket. 

Jimin looks back at him, distracted. "Hm?" 

"Kinda like watching yourself, huh?" 

Jimin's face does about ten things at once. He swallows and narrows his eyes and looks peevishly annoyed for a second, but then the annoyance eases into a kind of sorrowful regret mixed with a soft and well-hidden fondness. 

"Why didn't you just tell them not to take him?" Yoongi asks, in an undertone. 

Jimin shrugs uneasily. "I tried," he says. "Argued against him, but Kwak insisted. Said we needed a real vocalist." He laughs, bitter and faint. "He's right, too." 

"Eh," Yoongi says. "You're a vocalist." 

Jimin shakes his head. "No," he says. "Not good enough to be the main vocal." 

It's a sad, spare statement of fact. Fuck. 

Yoongi wants to comfort him or something, until he remembers that he's not so much a kid and not so much an idol trainee. 

Still. How many times must he have heard that to have come to believe it so completely? 

The world is fucked up. 

Jungkook puts away the broom and dust pan and stands in front of them. "All done," he says. 

"Good job, kid," Yoongi says. 

Jimin nods. "Get your stuff, and hyung will walk with you to the train." 

While Jungkook scurries to put on his boots and his coat, Yoongi asks in an undertone, "'Hyung will walk you to the train', huh? I always knew you were a big softie, Jimin." 

Jimin scowls, but it's not very convincing. Then his face stills and he asks quietly, "What are you doing later?" 

Yoongi shrugs. "Sleeping? You worked us to the fucking bone today." 

Jimin waves a hand, annoyed. "Can you meet me at the apartment at ten?" 

"Your apartment?" Yoongi frowns. 

Jimin nods. "Yeah. Ten o'clock." 

Yoongi sighs. His fucking femurs hurt. He really wants nothing more than to take a hot shower and pass out face down in his bed, gentle sea of pillows. 

"Can't it wait?" 

Jimin shakes his head. "I don't think so," he says. "I found something. An… acquaintance of mine says Bang Woohyun is going to be in town this weekend. I think we need to make a move." 

Shit.

*****

Weird, Yoongi thinks, how different a place can look when your pulse isn't racing and adrenaline isn't flooding your veins. His memories of his first trip to Jimin's apartment are vivid – all high contrast and dark shadows and headlights in the rearview mirror as they sped through the Seoul night. Now, his car is parked in front of a very ordinary building on a very ordinary suburban block. 

Doesn't look like the kind of place a criminal genius should live, but what does he know? 

He grabs his phone and flattens down his hair, scowling at himself in the mirror. He showered when he got back to his place but hadn't dried his hair and it's sticking up in the back. He normally keeps it shorter – regulation Seoul Metropolitan Police length, but he's had the excuse of the Golden Calf investigation to grow it out and now it's unruly and annoying.

He rings the bell and waits for Jimin to buzz him in. The lock disengages in the door. Yoongi steps into the lobby. An old woman in a fur coat and her husband are leaving, so he holds the door for them. 

"What a sweet young man," the old woman says, smiling at him with her yellow teeth. "Thank you." 

He smiles back, his most fake and polite smile. 

Up the elevator and down the hall, and he's standing in front of apartment 406 again. No gun to his back this time. He rings the bell, and from inside the apartment Jimin calls, "It's open." 

The living room is empty. 

"One sec," Jimin calls again. "Make yourself at home. I'm just getting dressed." 

Yoongi sits down heavily on the couch again. It's too white, like something in a department store. The furniture is all too well matched, and too classy. He wonders if Jimin paid someone to decorate this place for him.

Jimin steps out of a doorway across the room. His dark hair is wet, and he's not wearing a shirt – just a pair of tight, dark jeans, low on his hips.

Jesus fuck. 

He's stupidly fucking hot – not that Yoongi didn't know that. He's seen enough in dance practice: Jimin's smoothly muscled stomach, his surprisingly deep chest, his shoulders. The veins in his forearms. It was different, though, when Yoongi thought he was twenty years old and a fucking idol wannabe. 

Jimin raises an eyebrow and pulls on a black tee shirt. 

Yoongi cuts his eyes away. Shit. Goddamnit. 

"Hey, I'm hungry,” Jimin says. “Are you hungry? Do you want to get something to eat?" 

Yoongi frowns. "Thought we were supposed to be on diets." 

Jimin raises an eyebrow again. "Really?" 

Yoongi frowns. "Jesus. I'm just trying to play the fucking part." 

Jimin rolls his eyes. "Well, it's after hours and I'm off the clock. Let's go get dinner." 

They walk a few blocks to a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant where Jimin, it seems, is well known. 

The ahjumma who runs the place beams when he comes in. 

"Oh, Jimin-ah! It's been so long," she exclaims. "And you brought a friend!" 

Jimin beams at her – ten thousand watts, eyes reduced to happy crescents. Shit. "Hello, auntie! I'm so sorry I haven't been in lately. I've been so busy with work." 

She shakes her head. "You work too hard," she tuts. "You're so skinny now. You should take a vacation, go visit your mother." 

Jimin's face falls, before he catches it and smiles again. "Soon," he says. "Maybe for the holidays. My schedule is very unpredictable." 

They sit in the front, near the window. There are only a few other patrons in the place. Yoongi shifts uneasily, trying to find a comfortable position. He really fucking did something bad to his hip in practice today, and the hot shower he'd taken wasn't much help. 

"You're hurt," Jimin says, frowning. 

Yoongi scowls. "Well maybe you shouldn’t work us so hard. I'm too old for this shit." 

Jimin shakes his head, laughing. "Yes, you're so ancient, Yoongi-ssi. Take some aspirin. Stretch more." 

"Yeah, yeah," Yoongi says. He frowns. "So, what did you find out?" 

Jimin narrows his eyes, focused on something internal that Yoongi can't see. "There’s a man I know. I worked for him, for a little while. He knows everyone and does a lot of work with… certain foreign individuals. He’s been overseas for a long time, but he’s back for right now. I had dinner with him the other night, and he gave me a tip about Bang Wooyoung.”

Yoongi frowns. "And... what? Are we going to go kidnap him too?" 

Jimin grins. "You're never going to get over that, huh? I didn't kidnap you." 

"Pretty sure you did," Yoongi says. "I mean, if we're going by the letter of the law." 

"I guess you would know," Jimin says, like he’s not very much concerned with the letter of the law. "Well, I'm sorry. I was planning to talk to you about all of this like a normal person, but then you had to go break into the office and things kind of... went off the rails." 

The ahjumma comes over with a bottle of soju and two glasses. They order, and Jimin pours Yoongi a drink and then one for himself.

"Cheers," he says, and then neatly downs the drink. 

Cheers, Yoongi thinks, and sips his own. 

Jimin wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. His cheeks are a little flush but his eyes are bright and clear. "Bang Woohyun is going to be at a certain club this weekend," he says. "I'm going to go and see what I can find out." 

Yoongi snorts. This kid is too much. "What the fuck does that mean? 'See what I can find out'? And hey, how come you're going? This is my fucking investigation, Park Jimin." 

Jimin makes a brief and conciliatory gesture. "I know, I know. Your investigation, but this is what I do, Yoongi-ssi. I make people trust me and then I take things from them." 

Cold. He sounds so cold it makes something in Yoongi's gut twitch. He's supposed to trust this man? 

"You really think you're hot shit, don't you?" 

Jimin leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. "No," he says quietly. "I just know my strengths. I am very good at what I do. I fooled you, didn't I?" 

Oof. That hurts. "Fucking point," Yoongi mutters. "Fine, then. You go and see what you can weasel out of this Bang Woohyun guy, but I'm coming too." 

Jimin frowns. "I don't know if that's such a good idea, Yoongi-ssi." 

"What? I'm not cool enough to go to this fancy club of yours?” Yoongi shakes his head. "Listen, I'll have you know that I'm a very hip guy.”

Ouch. That didn't come out sounding nearly as cool as Yoongi imagined it. 

Jimin's stony expression softens. He laughs. "Sure thing, Yoongi-ssi. Whatever you say."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jimin's secret is revealed! Is this what you suspected? Do you think he has more up his sleeve? Do you think Yoongi's an idiot for trusting him?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning for this chapter: Yoongi is put into a position where he is propositioned / verbally harassed by someone much older while drunk. There's also a suggestion of / reference to prostitution, but no explicit content.
> 
> Also, I am going on vacation so the next chapter will be up on or around July 5th :)

"You can't wear that," Jimin says, frowning, when Yoongi shows up at his apartment a few days later. 

Yoongi glances down at himself – dark jeans, a tee shirt, an oversized grey hoodie. Normal, comfortable clothing. He's worn variations of this outfit out to countless bars and clubs, tagging along with Namjoon. 

Jimin shakes his head. "This isn't some neighborhood dive," he days. "You have to dress _nice_." 

"This is nice," Yoongi protests. "It's not like you're wearing a fucking suit." 

Jimin is wearing very tight black jeans with a short-sleeved black dress shirt tucked in. Yoongi's protest is weak, though – individually, none of the components of Jimin's outfits are anything particularly fancy, but the effect is a world apart from Yoongi's frat boy chic. Maybe it's just the way he holds himself – alert, upright dancer's posture – but Jimin makes his clothing look like a million bucks. 

Jimin sighs. "Well, at least we're the same size. I can lend you something." 

That's just not right. "I'm definitely taller than you," Yoongi protests. 

Jimin raises an eyebrow. "By a half a centimeter at most," he says. 

"Still taller," Yoongi mutters. "Older, too. Wouldn't hurt for you to show me some fucking respect." 

Jimin rolls his eyes but he grins. "Okay, _hyung_ ," he says in a goofy sing-song voice. "Now let me find you something to wear." 

It's weird for about ten seconds as Yoongi follows him into the bedroom, but the weirdness is overshadowed almost immediately by awe. One whole wall of the room is neatly arranged built-ins. Jimin has a fucking _ton_ of clothing.

"Damn," Yoongi says. He notices then that there's no bed. "What the fuck is this place? Your secret lair?" 

Jimin snorts. "No," he says. He hesitates, and the corners of his mouth turn down. "I bought it as an investment. I'm going to give it to my parents." 

"Oh," Yoongi says. "Well. That's quite the present." 

Jimin snorts. "More like ten years of presents. It’s been a while since we’ve spoken, my parents and I.”

Ouch. "Uh, never too late to start over?" He grimaces. "Sorry. I'm not great at platitudes." 

Jimin laughs. "Yeah," he says, "you really aren’t. Good thing I don't need consoling."

He turns towards the impressive wall of clothing and stands with his hands on his hips, contemplating. There's a vast array of styles – stylish athletic wear and flashy sneakers, expensive suits and glossy dress shoes, even a few uniforms of some indeterminate type, neatly pressed and hanging sheathed in plastic. After considering his options for a moment, Jimin takes a suit jacket, a white tee shirt, and a pair of dress pants down off their hangers, and hands them to Yoongi. 

"I think this'll work," he says. He has a funny frown on his face as he gives Yoongi a long, contemplative once over. It makes the skin on Yoongi's arms go all to goose flesh. 

"Uh," Yoongi says, looking down at the armful of clothing. "Where's the bathroom?" Because okay, sure, he could get changed right here, but he's already seen Jimin half-naked and he knows _that_ comparison doesn't go in his favor. He doesn't need this kid ogling his pale, scrawny chicken legs. 

Jimin rolls his eyes and points down the hall. 

Under the fluorescent lights, in the cool marble bathroom, Yoongi takes off his clothing and makes a face at the big mirror. "You fucking idiot," he mutters, giving the punk he sees reflected back an evil scowl. "You had to go and get a crush on him, didn't you? Dumbass. Focus on your work. You're a professional." 

Yoongi's reflection doesn't take this little pep talk to heart. His scowl deepens, and he looks away in disgust. 

Yoongi picks up Jimin's clothes. All the labels bear names he knows. Fancy stuff he's never dreamed of being able to afford on his policeman's salary. It's not that he makes bad money, but Prada jackets and comfortable well-appointed apartments in nice suburbs are definitely beyond his means. 

Dumb fucking Jimin. All of this is ill-gotten, he reminds himself. Jimin made this money by taking advantage of people. By conning them. By making them trust him and then using that trust to do illegal, immoral things. 

The cool white cotton shirt suddenly makes his skin crawl. 

This is all for a good cause, though. They're going to bring that asshole Seo to justice, and all the rest of these clowns, and fuck. Jimin is going to get his due too, one day. Yoongi knows. The scales always balance in the end. He has to believe that.

He pulls on the pants and shrugs on the jacket and looks at himself in the mirror. His hair is floppy and unstyled. He's too pale, and there are purple circles under his eyes. The clothes are nice, and they fit him well enough, but they don't really do anything to disguise the fundamental blandness that is Min Yoongi. 

Whatever. Not like it fucking matters. 

He's got a weird feeling in his stomach as he steps back into the bedroom. He doesn't care what Jimin thinks, really, but some stupid part of his brain he can't control has decided that the appropriate reaction is butterflies in his stomach like he's fifteen years old and sitting next to his high school crush. (Joohyuk – he'd been very handsome, star of the basketball team, and responsible for Yoongi's brief flirtation with that sport.) 

Idiot. Why is he such a fucking idiot? 

Jimin is sorting through something in his ridiculous closet when Yoongi clears his throat. 

Jimin looks up. 

Hands spread, gesture of weary resignation, Yoongi says, "Happy?" 

Jimin makes an abstract noise of appreciation. "You look sharp, hyung. Almost perfect." 

"Almost?" Yoongi huffs. "I think I look devastatingly handsome." 

Jimin rolls his eyes. He catches Yoongi by the crook of the arm and steers him back into the bathroom. "Just let me..." 

He rummages through the medicine cabinet – Yoongi can see expensive bottles of aftershave, glittering little bottles of expensive cologne – and comes out with a tube of hair gel. He squeezes some into his palm, and then rubs his hands together. Jimin's fingers, Yoongi notices, are small and plump, an odd contrast with the lean and obvious masculinity of his shoulders, his arms, his narrow hips. 

"You have baby hands," he blurts out. 

Wow, super awkward. 

Jimin pauses and looks at him. "I have perfectly normal hands," he says calmly, but his cheeks are pink. 

Oh. It bothers him. 

Yoongi grins. "Nah," he says. "They're all cute and chubby, like a cute little baby." 

"Shut up," Jimin mumbles, head ducking for a moment, his hair falling in front of his face. 

It's one of those weird, sweet moments where the mask drops and Yoongi wants to... what? 

Grab his hands and weave their fingers together? 

Shit. He's supposed to be a professional. That pep talk was only five minutes ago. 

But Jimin is _good_ and when he looks up again he's got that smooth cool look in his eyes. He runs his fingers through Yoongi's hair. He's so close that Yoongi can see the faint shadow of stubble on his chin, can see a slight chip in his front tooth, can feel the warm damp of his breath and smell the scent he's wearing: something musky and rich and expensive from one of those little potion bottles. 

"There," Jimin says, after a moment. 

Yoongi turns so he can see himself in the mirror. His hip grazes Jimin's leg... crotch? No. Leg. Thank god. He exhales. His hair is pushed up off his forehead, tousled and parted down the middle. It looks artful without looking intentional. He looks good, he supposes. As good as he’s going to get. 

He shrugs. "Eh," he says. "It's alright." 

Jimin shakes his head. "You're ridiculous," he says. He leans a little closer. "But you don't fool me, Min Yoongi." 

Yoongi swallows. Shit. 

*****

They take Jimin’s sleek little black car and they drive fast.

“Where the fuck are we going?” Yoongi mutters. He’s nervous. All shifted out of shape by Jimin’s words and Jimin’s touch and Jimin’s fucking smile. 

“Itaewon,” Jimin says.

He’s wearing sunglasses even though it’s evening, and they suit him. 

“What kind of an asshole wears sunglasses after dark?” Yoongi mutters to himself, sinking further down into his seat, probably wrinkling Jimin’s crisply pressed jacket. 

Jimin huffs out, halfway between laughter and exasperation. He takes the sunglasses off and puts them down in the center console. “Better?” he asks. 

Yoongi shrugs. “Just didn’t want you to look like an idiot,” he says. “Since you’re supposed to be Mr. Cool.” 

Jimin shrugs. “They help me get into the right mood,” he says. “Like, ‘Sure it’s dark, but I’m not going to let the time of day tell me what I can or can’t wear’.” He wrinkles his nose. Yoongi catches it in the mirror. “Sorry. That sounded better in my head.” 

Yoongi rolls the window down and back up. “Thought you’d have this whole act down pat by now,” he drawls. “I thought you were a pro.” 

Jimin changes lanes, accelerates. “I am,” he says. “But I’m not a _natural_. I’ve always had to work for it. My old partner Jay, he was a natural. He could become anyone he wanted to.” 

Great. Yoongi’s betraying every ethical and professional code he’s sworn to uphold and he’s stuck with a _second rate_ crook. That would be his fucking luck. 

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” Jimin says. “I’m _not_ a natural, but I’ve practiced more than anyone. I’m _very good_.” 

They exit the highway and immediately get stuck in traffic. Yoongi rolls the window back up. His lungs are full of enough garbage without breathing in exhaust. 

Jimin is looking straight ahead, hands loose on the steering wheel. Yoongi hadn’t noticed it before, but he’s wearing an earring: a simple stud set with some black, glittering stone. It catches the light as he moves his head. 

“Does it ever get old?” Yoongi asks. 

“What?” Jimin glances over, frowning. 

Yoongi waves his hand. “This whole act. You know. Do you ever get sick of being a phony every fucking second of your life?” 

Ouch. Harsher than he’d intended. Get a grip, Yoongi. 

Jimin flinches but barely. “I don’t know,” he says. “It’s kind of nice, getting to be anyone you want.” He glances over at Yoongi again. The whites of his eyes look very, very white. “Don’t you ever get sick of it?” 

“Sick of what?” Yoongi frowns. “I’m not the one leading a double life. I’m _working_.” 

Jimin shakes his head. “At least I’m pretending to be something,” he says lightly. “You’re just pretending you don’t care about anything at all.” 

Oof. That’s a low blow. “You don’t know me,” Yoongi mutters. 

Jimin doesn’t reply, just shrugs again and curses under his breath at the car in front of him, which is trying to make a left turn from the right lane. 

Yoongi closes his eyes. It doesn’t settle the shifting, unsteady churn in his head. He turns as much as he can with the seat belt on and stares out the window at the carnival excess of the city at night. 

***** 

They park in the garage. Jimin slams his door shut. Yoongi slams his. Percussive echoes. 

“Never valet park your car,” Jimin mutters. He locks his and drops the keys into his pocket. 

“Oh yeah?” Yoongi asks. Jimin is a fast walker and he’s walking faster than normal now. Yoongi is practically fucking jogging to keep up. “Hey, slow down. What the hell’s the rush?” 

Jimin slows down marginally. “Yeah,” he says. “Can’t tell you how easy it is to copy someone’s key. I have a friend who can do it in ten minutes.” 

“Ten minutes,” Yoongi says flatly. He’s a cop. He knows this stuff happens, but really? 

“He’s the best,” Jimin says. “Ten minutes.” 

Yoongi whistles. He’s impressed, or he would be if he weren’t half convinced that Jimin is bullshitting him. 

Into an elevator they go, and up, up, up. The building itself is nondescript – bland high rise. The elevator is standard issue, but Jimin takes a sleek black card from his pocket and has to hold it to the scanner before he can press the button for the top floor. The hydraulics slide to a smooth stop. The door glides open. They are standing at the end of a long hallway with white marble floors and candles in gold sconces on the wall. 

Fancy. 

Jimin glances over at Yoongi. “Just… don’t say anything, okay?” 

Yoongi scowls. “I’m not going to do anything stupid,” he mutters. “I’ll have you know I’m a very suave guy.” 

“Right,” Jimin says. “Sure. Just don’t say anything, and you can impress me with your suave moves later.” 

Yoongi opens his mouth to protest, but Jimin is already gone, walking down the hallway. His dress shoes smack satisfyingly against the hard floor. He walks with a smooth, easy grace – shoulders back, center of gravity low. 

Wherever this is, Jimin looks like he belongs. 

Yoongi sighs and scurries to catch up. Damn his short legs. 

At the end of the hall there’s a massive gaudy door – big gold knockers shaped like yawning dragons. There’s an equally massive man standing in front of the door. He’s half again Yoongi’s height and about three times as wide, but Jimin just nods at him. The big man holds out his hand and he and Jimin do some kind of elaborate fist bump. 

“Jimin,” the big man says, “He’s with you?” He nods his head towards Yoongi. His neck barely moves. 

Jimin nods. “Yeah, hyung. I’m showing him the ropes tonight.” 

The big man nods. He glances at Yoongi. “Good luck, kid.” 

“Thanks,” Yoongi mutters, prickly at being called a kid. He doesn’t look that young – not any younger than Jimin, anyway. 

The massive doors open, and they step through into another world. 

Everything is dark and overwhelming and expensive. The floors are black marble. The walls are hung with red velvet. Spangles of warm light spill from massive chandeliers. Women in glittering dresses carry drinks on gold trays. Men recline on black leather banquettes, laughing, talking. Sinuous ribbons of smoke hang in the air. Crowds congregate around gaming tables with blue felt faces where cards flash and dice roll and mountains of chips ebb and flow on luck’s tide. 

It's fucking ugly. It's a small consolation to know that these rich bastards have terrible taste.

Jimin moves with intention, shoulders thrown back, angling for the bar. Yoongi shuffles along in his wake, feeling shabby and conspicuous. The bartender salutes Jimin. 

"Long time no see, Jimin," he says. 

"Hey, hyung," Jimin says, smiling.

Jesus. Does he know everyone here?

"Who's your friend?" the bartender asks, nodding towards Yoongi. 

"He's nobody," Jimin says, dismissively. "He's just going to sit here and have a drink, okay?" 

Yoongi frowns. Like hell he's just going to sit here and have a drink. What the fuck? "Hey," he growls. "You’re not my fucking babysitter, Park Jimin."

Jimin's eyes narrow. He grabs Yoongi by the lapels and shoves him backwards onto one of the bar stools. "Just." His voice is tense, constrained. "Just shut up and sit here." He leans close, so close that Yoongi can see the beauty marks on his forehead, on his neck. "I know you think you know what you're doing, but you don't. _Not here._ Just. Trust me on this one, hyung. Please." 

He sounds plaintive and young. He’s never called Yoongi hyung before, not for real. Yoongi’s protests die before he can voice them. "Fine," he says, slumping forward, resting his forearms on the bar. "You go do your thing and I'll just sit here like a good boy and have a drink." 

Jimin exhales, looks for a moment like he wants to say something else, and then turns to the bartender. "You can put whatever he has on my tab," he says, and then he turns and walks off, a slender, dark figure wending through the crowd. 

"What can I get you?" the bartender asks. 

Jimin's paying, huh? "Whiskey," Yoongi says, "Neat. The most expensive you've got." 

The bartender laughs. He's an older guy, handsome in a bland way. No nametag. He's engaging but impersonal, like a flight attendant. Yoongi watches him work – quick efficient pour, tinkle of glassware, the golden syrup translucence of the whiskey. He sets a cocktail napkin in front of Yoongi with a flourish and presents his drink. 

"Thanks," Yoongi mutters. He takes a sip. Rich, smoky savor, followed by a burn going down. He coughs. 

He doesn't even like whiskey. The thrill of sticking it to Jimin's wallet is short lived. He wishes he'd ordered a beer. 

They probably don’t even serve beer here. Too plebeian. 

"You working with him?" the bartender asks, nodding in the direction of the casino floor.

Yoongi frowns. "Jimin? Yeah." 

"Huh," the bartender says. "Imagine that. Didn't think I'd ever see him take another partner after Jay left." 

Yoongi rolls his eyes. This isn’t the first time he’s heard about this Jay character. Besides, it's not like he and Jimin are partners. This is a temporary arrangement. He'll make his report to Superintendent Shim in a few weeks, and he'll be free from this mess. He doesn't give a fuck where Jimin falls out in the wash. 

"Not my partner," Yoongi says in a low voice. "We're just helping each other out. It's a temporary thing." 

"Ah," the bartender says. He washes and dries a highball glass, crisp white shirtsleeves rolled up. "Take care of yourself, buddy. Jimin's a good guy and I've known him a long time, but after Jay left... well, he became the kind of guy who looks out for himself, you know?" 

"I can take care of myself just fine," Yoongi mutters. He takes a sip of his whiskey. 

"Never said you couldn't," the bartender says, affable and unconcerned. "You want another drink?" 

Yoongi's glass is almost empty. How'd that happen? 

"Why the hell not?" He drains his glass. One long swallow, and the burn lights a fire in his belly. 

Isn't this just how it's always been for Min Yoongi? He's sitting here in the midst of all this glamour and wealth and he's nothing but an observer. He might as well not be here at all. That's how it's always felt. When he was a kid, he had been before anything else his father's son. Any private passions – music, basketball, whatever – had been treated as childish and temporary diversions. He had been taught to be ashamed of anything he cared about, and he carries that shame with him still. 

Fuck.

Life doesn't do any favors to people like Min Yoongi. He ought to know better. He feels it now so keenly. He doesn't belong here. He's an idiot for even coming. These people – men and women alike – are tall and beautiful and powerful. Even here, in a room that reeks of wealth and influence, each of them commands their own little halo of splendor. Poor old Yoongi sits alone at the bar, sipping his drink, waiting in the wings while all the action takes place on stage. 

Fuck it. Not this time. He stands too quickly. The vertigo nearly knocks him back on his ass. The whiskey wouldn't have hit him so hard if he'd eaten anything today, but his nerves had been too bad. No appetite. Too late to worry about that now. A hand on the bar steadies him. There's still a finger of whiskey in his glass. He drains it and slams his glass down.

“Steady there," the bartender says, eyes narrow. "Just take it easy, buddy." 

One breath, then two, and the dizzy sloshing in his head subsides. "I'm fine," he says. 

And he is. He feels good. Something warm burning in his belly, and all the soft thrilling murmur of noise: laughter and conversation and generic EDM music throbbing beneath it all, persistent. Bland soundtrack for some generic studio film. Yoongi straightens his jacket, licks his lips. He's okay. He knows what he's doing.

Out onto the floor. No tip for the bartender. Do you even do that here? These don't seem like men that carry cash, these titans of industry and government or whoever all these fuckers are. Yoongi looks around for Jimin, but his vision is bad in the dark and he can't make out anything beyond the abstract angular shape of bodies jostling, pushing past. Someone elbows him in the kidney. He staggers. Not too sure on his feet tonight. A hand on his arm steadies him, and he looks up expecting, irrationally, Jimin, but it's not him. 

It's a woman – older, wearing a suit jacket over a velvet dress. Her lips are cherry red, and she is smiling. 

"Are you okay, honey?" she asks, in a motherly tone.

Yoongi nods and recoils from her long-nailed grasp. 

She laughs. "Oh," she says. "You're cute." 

Yoongi opens his mouth, but no words come out. Goddamnit. Think, Min Yoongi. Think. 

"Can I buy you a drink, cutie?" the woman asks. 

Yoongi shakes his head. "Uh, I'm looking for my friend," he mumbles. 

She purses her lips. "Too bad," she says, shaking her head. Her hair – cut in a stiff, perfectly straight bob – shimmies. "If you don't find what you're looking for, I'll be around." 

And then she's gone, siren vanished back into the abyss. 

"Fuck." Yoongi wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. He's sweating like a pig even though it's not slightly warm in here. A waitress in one of those shimmery gold dresses walks past, towering over him in four-inch heels, bearing a tray of libations. He feels like he's committing some trespass when he reaches for one of the flutes of champagne, but she just smiles at him, indulgent, pretty, pleased. 

Is this what it's like when you're _somebody_? 

It's fucking creepy. Gooseflesh on his neck. He drinks the champagne too fast. Bubbles tickle going down. He sets the glass down somewhere, takes out his phone. No texts from Jimin. Dumb punk. He closes his eyes. 

He finds himself at the edge of one of the circles of bodies pressed around one of the gaming tables. Three men sit there – old, ugly men. One is wearing a Hawaiian shirt with a garish pattern, a cigar clamped in the corner of his mouth. Do they get these people out of central casting? Fuck. Yoongi doesn't know cards. He doesn't even know what they're playing, but there's something mesmerizing about the steady flash of the white faces as the dealer flips the cards over: clubs and hearts and spades and diamonds in rapid succession. The crowd groans and cheers, and Yoongi feels it too – this energy is compelling, even without any understanding of what feeds it. 

He needs to sit down. His head is spinning and his stomach growls. He's got that hollow gut feeling that comes from too much alcohol and not enough to eat. His pulse is throbbing in his temples. He steps back away from the table, backs into someone, mutters an apology, and collapses into an empty chair. 

Eyes closed, he swallows. Okay. Get it together, Yoongi. 

He opens his eyes, and then he sees Jimin. 

He is sitting on a banquette at the side of the room, a cozy little nook that offers marginally more privacy. There is an older man next to him – very well dressed, with gold rings on his fingers and droopy bags under his eyes. Jimin's legs are crossed. The golden light makes his skin glow, just enough milk in coffee. Honey-warm. His eyes so full of warmth and affection, dripping sweet. The old man says something, swirls a glass of red wine in his hand, takes a long drink. Jimin laughs, bright smile, happy dimple in his cheek. He puts a hand on the old man's shoulder, leans forward towards him. His dark hair falls in front of his face and he brushes it back. 

Charming.

Yoongi's stomach twists. Shit.

He can't watch this. Something sour rises in his throat. He feels hot all over. Terrible. His hands are shaking. He presses them into his thighs to steady them. 

He gets to his feet, staggering. These clothes are choking him. Too tight. He really needs some water. 

Somehow, he finds the restroom. Quiet. Cool black marble. He pisses, and washes his hands, and stares at himself in the mirror. Pale. Ashen, almost. Beneath the pallor and the fancy clothes, it's his same old ugly mug. Same old pathetic Min Yoongi, hiding safely out of sight, while Jimin is out there ... 

Fuck. 

"Asshole," Yoongi growls. "You fucking coward." 

He turns on the tap, wets a towel, presses it to forehead. He's a fuckup all right, but he can't just let Jimin do this to himself. He can't... 

Back out into the hot, dark melee. He glances around. The old man is still sitting in his private corner, but Jimin is gone. Jimin is...

"Where the did you go?" Jimin's hand rests on Yoongi's shoulder. His eyes are wide and he is smiling, and there is some brilliant electric energy running through him right now, something that animates him in a way Yoongi has not seen before. "I got it." 

"Bathroom," Yoongi croaks. He swallows. His throat is dry. "What?" 

"His key," Jimin says. "Room key." He closes his eyes. "Fuck. Okay." He takes a breath to calm himself. "Go sit with him. Tell him you're my friend. Tell him I had to go to the bathroom and I'll be right back. Just. You can keep his attention for fifteen minutes, right? That's all I need." 

He can? "Uh," Yoongi says. "I'm can’t... Shouldn't you stay?" 

Jimin shakes his head. "You don't know where the room is. You'll take too long." He puts his other hand on Yoongi's shoulder, leans so close that their noses almost brush. " Just be your normal charming self, Yoongi-ssi. You can do that, right?" 

Yoongi rolls his eyes. "Damn right," he says, a lot more confidently than he feels.

Jimin grins at him and steps back, and then is gone. 

Suddenly all that whiskey doesn't feel like nearly enough. He could use another sip of liquid courage right now. No time, though. He closes his eyes. A moment of darkness. Set change. Second act.

Right. He can do this. He's Min Yoongi, and he's kind of a fuck up, but if there's one thing he's good at it’s bullshitting. He squares his shoulders and feels a little more capable. Maybe there's something to this idea of good posture. He slips through the crowds, hoping he’s captured even a little of Jimin’s untouchable aura, and makes his way to the old man's couch. 

"Jimin had to go take care of something," he says, lazily. "He sent me over to keep you company." Rakish smile. Disheveled hair. He's a happy boy having a good time. 

The old man grins. Up close his veneer of wealth and mature good looks is full of holes: yellow teeth, rheumy eyes, neck loose and fleshy. Repulsive.

"That was kind of him," the old man says.

Yoongi huffs. His stomach is a knot of tensions. "That's Jimin," he says. "Always looking out for everyone else."

The old man laughs – a wet and gurgling hack, like oozing evil deep in his lungs is trying to escape. "And you aren't so altruistic, I take it?" 

Yoongi shrugs. Clamp down on the despair and play the part, idiot. "Not so much," he says lazily. "I need to look out for myself, and that's a full-time job." He laughs, like he doesn't quite take himself seriously. That's charming, right? That's how this is supposed to work? 

The old man purses his lips. Wrinkly duck face. Ugh. He smells, up close; some old man aroma of herbal medicine and hospital rooms. Jimin has a strong stomach. Yoongi's not so sure his is up to the task. 

"One should always look out for themselves," the old man says. "I learned that lesson very long ago, and that's why I find myself in my current... position of comfort." 

"You're a smart man," Yoongi says quietly.

He shifts closer. The leather creaks. His old man reek grows stronger. Yoongi lounges, one arm over the back of the couch. A waitress glides past, and Yoongi flags her down. 

"I'll have a vodka and tonic," he says, and he gestures to the old man, but she must know his drink because he just waves at her dismissively and she turns and go. 

Fucking gross. All of this makes Yoongi's skin crawl. Worst kind of rich assholes play acting in some imitation of what they think it means to enjoy the fruits of their wealth. 

"What's your name?" the old man asks. 

"Yoongi," he says. 

"Yoongi-gun, it's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Bang Woohyun.” He holds out a plump hand. Yoongi takes it. His palm is sweaty. They shake. "You seem like an ambitious young man. I admire that."

His gaze is tactile. Yoongi stills a shudder. "I don't know about ambitious," Yoongi says. "I just want to have a good time." He glances up and smiles and hopes to fucking god it looks appealing.

Yoongi has never been good looking. Too short and too thin, with too broad a nose and small eyes. Not ugly, exactly, but nothing special. But he remembers vaguely what it had felt like to be young and in thrall to the discovery of himself as a _sexual being_. Sounds like some self-help nonsense Namjoon would spout off when he's had too much to drink, but he remembers that rush of youth and pleasure. Flirting with the girls at school and making out in the bathrooms of clubs. Silly things, so innocent seeming now, but thrilling and illicit at the time. 

It's been a long, long time though, and he has to drag that feeling up from the depths through long years of frustration and embarrassment and antipathy: a whole parade of bad dates and personal mortification and fucking misery. 

Fuck. He's such an idiot. Cringeworthy, really. 

But Bang Woohyun’s old eyes must be failing because he doesn't laugh or scowl in disgust, but just smiles his foul yellow-toothed smile and says, "You're in the right place for that, Yoongi-gun." 

"Yeah," Yoongi says, swallowing, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, it's okay." 

The old man's eyebrows rise in surprise, hairy white caterpillars crawling up towards his dyed black hair. "I haven’t seen you here before. This must be your first time, surely. You're a guest of your enchanting friend Jimin?" The old man's eyes go distant. "Where did he wander off to, anyway? He's certainly been gone a long time." 

Oh shit. Brain to mouth connection severed. "Uh..." 

He's saved by the waitress, agent of divine intervention. She floats over bearing nectar, and hands Yoongi his drink. 

"Here you are, gentlemen." 

The old man leers at her much more nakedly and terribly than he looked at Yoongi. Repulsive leech. She bears it with much more grace than Yoongi can muster. As she's walking away, he sees that the old man has slipped a few folded bills in her hand. 

Yoongi takes a shaky sip of his drink. When he looks up, the old man is watching him. 

"She's pretty, isn't she?" Goblin smile. Veins stand out blue behind the pale skin of his temples. 

Yoongi nods. "Yeah," he says. "Beautiful." It comes out in a rough, choked voice he doesn't recognize as his own. 

Bang Woohyun laughs. "They all are," he says dismissively. "Would you like to get to know her? I can call her back over." He starts to raise a shaking hand. 

"No," Yoongi says. "I'm not..." He hesitates a moment too long. "I'm not interested." 

The old man snorts. "You're not nervous, are you?" He shakes his head. "A handsome young man like yourself?" His voice drops to whisper, oily and faint. "I could call her back over here, and you could have a nice chat with her, handsome boy. You've got such a charming, clever tongue, and you know it, don't you? If you wanted, she would go downstairs with you. I have a room here, and if you wanted I could take the two of you down there and..." 

Bang Woohyun's hand slides along the couch, thick fingers on Yoongi's thigh. 

Yoongi feels like he's going to be sick. He can barely breath.

"Oh, I see how it is. I step away to the powder room and you abandon me for Yoongi hyung." 

Jimin. Thank fucking god. He drops onto the couch between Yoongi and the old man, who snatches his hand away.

The old man's brows furrow, but he recovers. "You shouldn't leave me in the custody of your charming friends if you don't want my eye to wander," he says, in a more playful, teasing tone than Yoongi has yet heard.

Jimin _giggles_. "He is charming, isn't he?" Jimin throws an arm over Yoongi's shoulder, tousles his hair. 

Yoongi's stomach is still all twisted up. He smiles, but it's an unsure thing.

"Very much so," the old man says. "You should have introduced me earlier, Jimin-ah." 

Jimin pouts. He's so good at this. It's fucking mesmerizing to watch. "But hyung," he says, a sick lilting note in his voice. "Then you wouldn't pay attention to me." 

"Ah," the old man says, baring all those yellow teeth. “I can spare enough attention for both of you. Or maybe you won’t make me pick.” He leers. 

Jimin laughs, tinkling bells, and then he leans forward to whisper something in the old man's ear. So fast that Yoongi barely notices, Jimin slides a hand into the man's coat pocket, and out again. 

Shit, he's good. 

Whatever Jimin whispers, the old man seems mollified. He settles further back into his chair, lumpy and shapeless beneath his expensive clothing, grinning a foul skeleton grin. 

They stay there awhile longer. How much longer, Yoongi could not possibly say. He sips his drink. Jimin is the center of everyone's attention: the old man's, Yoongi's, the waitresses, who laugh at his jokes and seem to hover over them like large and lovely moths, attracted to his brilliance. 

At some point, Yoongi is startled from a series of drunk and melancholy reflections by a hand on his wrist. 

Jimin. He is standing, tugging Yoongi to his feet. 

Unsteadily, Yoongi rises. Jimin slips an arm around his waist and steadies him. The old man is watching them, intent and interested, but Jimin's beaming, bland smile is as impenetrable as armor. 

"Of course, hyung," he says, beaming. "I need to get poor Yoongi home, but I’ll come back and see you again if I can. You know how unpredictable my schedule is." 

He laughs, and the old man laughs, and Yoongi finds himself being steered through the crowd, through the dark, shimmering room, through those massive double doors and down the white hallway. He finds, once they leave the stifling heat and noise and confusion of the club, that he isn't as dizzy and dazed as he thought. 

They step into the elevator. The door slides shut. Jimin's hand falls from his waist, steps away suddenly. 

Yoongi closes his eyes. 

"What the fuck was that?" he mutters. He can't make sense of it. It's all jumbled up still. 

"Not yet," Jimin murmurs. 

Yoongi opens his eyes, looks over. Jimin is standing straight and tall and that flush is still on him. His cheeks are red and his eyes are bright.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. 

Jimin grins. "Good job, Yoongi-ssi," he says. "You did well." 

Yoongi can't help it. He melts, flops back against the elevator wall, head lolling. He smiles. "Told you I was good," he says, and then he laughs at the obvious lie, and Jimin laughs too, and then the door slides open and they're out and gone. 

*****

They drive far and fast, windows rolled down. The cool night air is a balm, and Yoongi closes his eyes and listens to the wind rush past. The highway is a rolling black river, and they are swept forward. Jimin's hands are tense on the steering wheel. He stares straight ahead and does not speak until they leave behind the city's orange aura and the dense suburban clutter and the countryside is a black sea around them studded with just a few faintly twinkling lights. 

It is after three AM before Jimin slows down. He turns off the highway and they are in a little nothing of a town: a few restaurants and shops clustered near the off ramp, and then dark, empty roads leading further into darkness. Jimin pulls into the parking lot of one of the restaurants. The lights are out. Nobody home. 

Yoongi leans back. "Where the fuck are we?" 

Jimin throws his head back against the headrest. The streetlights cast his face in shadow, but his profile is etched in crisp golden lines: slightly snub nose, prominent lips, chin just a little too strong to be traditionally handsome. He swallows. "No clue," he says, and he lazily rolls his head over to grin at Yoongi. 

"Jesus," Yoongi mutters, but he's smiling too. "It's three AM and you drove us out to bumfuck for the hell of it?" 

Jimin shrugs. "Just wanted to drive." He seems loose and calm now, all that tense, brilliant energy from earlier spent in the pursuit of speed and open roads. 

Yoongi nods. He reaches in his pocket, but he doesn't have his cigarettes with him.

"Wish I had a smoke," he mutters. 

Jimin frowns. "That's bad for you," he says. 

"Yeah, yeah." Yoongi rolls his eyes. "We've already had this conversation, remember?" 

"Yeah," Jimin says. 

The night is so quiet, except for the distant wash of traffic on the highway and the nearer, more urgent song of crickets. 

"We have practice in the morning," Yoongi says. Exhaustion swamps him suddenly. The happy loose ease of being drunk is gone, and he's just left with a heavy head and a sour stomach. 

"Yeah," Jimin says again. 

Yoongi closes his eyes. He feels all shaken up and strange. Everything that happened earlier seems like it was some kind of dream – not the real world. "That was... what the fuck was that?" 

Jimin laughs, a weary, amused little laugh that makes Yoongi's heart hurt. "That was nothing," he says. 

“Bang Woohyun? Nothing? That guy was a fucking monster." 

Jimin shrugs. "Harmless," he says.

Yoongi scowls. "He's a fucking pervert. I feel like I need to shower with bleach." 

Jimin doesn't say anything. Yoongi watches him. His eyelashes are little silver fans falling on his soft cheeks. 

"They knew you there." He doesn’t intend to sound like an accusation, but it does. 

Jimin nods, barely. 

Yoongi's throat feels dry. "Is that what you do? You whore yourself out to old men like that for what? Money? Information? For –" 

"Fuck you," Jimin says, voice low and tense. "That's not any of your fucking business." 

"It's illegal," Yoongi says reflexively. 

"Get off your high horse," Jimin says, and he sounds tired and old suddenly. 

"Sorry," Yoongi mutters. He squeezes his eyes shut. "I guess I should have listened to you and stayed home but I didn't and now I want to know what the fuck is going on, Jimin." 

There is a long moment of silence. Jimin's chest rising and falling. The soothing night noises. It's cold, and Yoongi wishes he had something warmer to wear, something comfortable, something that didn't make him feel so much like a fraud and a fake. 

"I don't sleep with anyone," Jimin says. "Unless I want to." Amused smile, a flash of teeth. "I'm a confidence man. I make people like me. I flatter them and I make them feel good. I make them trust me and then they give me what I need. Or I take it." Big grin. "He has a big reputation, but Bang Woohyun is harmless. He just wants someone to make him feel important and powerful.” He exhales. “There are far worse desires. I’ve met far worse men.” 

"That's fucked up," Yoongi says.

Jimin nods. "Yeah." 

"You stole his key. What did you find?" 

Jimin shrugs. "Not sure yet," he says. He grins. "There was a laptop in the room. I copied his hard drive, so whatever he's been doing, we'll see soon enough." 

Copied his hard drive? "Shit," Yoongi said. "This is like some goddamn spy movie. What the fuck." 

Jimin shrugs. "Like I said, I have a friend who's good with computers. He's taught me a few things." 

Yoongi nods. He feels very far away from everything right now. "You think it will be enough for us to get Seo?" He swallows. "I just need to... I need enough to take to my superintendent so I can get a warrant, and then I'm done with this mess." 

Jimin turns the key in the ignition. "Right," he says quietly. "I'm going to drop this off with my friend later. After he takes a look we’ll see if you have your evidence." 

He sounds disappointed somehow. Asshole. "That's what you want too, remember?" Yoongi scowls. "You wanted to bring down Seo. That's what you told me." 

Jimin nods. "You're right, Yoongi-ssi," he says, putting the car in reverse and pulling back onto the highway, back towards Seoul. 

"That's it?" The sour feeling in Yoongi's belly is growing, a tight and miserable knot of lonely anxiety. "We're just going back?" 

Jimin shrugs. "Like you said, we have practice in the morning." 

"Right," Yoongi says. He's fucked up something and he doesn't know what and he doesn't know how but he can feel the walls Jimin threw up, blocking him out. "Hey. You were awesome tonight." 

Sudden thaw. Jimin smiles. "I told you that I'm good at what I do." 

Yoongi rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah." 

Jimin laughs. "You did good too, Yoongi-ssi," he says. "I didn't think you had it in you." 

“Just call me hyung. Yoongi-ssi makes me feel like you’re about to start selling me a used car or something.” Yoongi folds his arms, frowns, stares out the window. The night sky is dark and full of stars. "I'm a very charming person," he grumbles after a moment. 

"I know, hyung," Jimin says softly, and then Yoongi does not know what to say, so he is silent and Jimin is, and they drive back to Seoul listening only to the wind.


	9. Chapter 9

Yoongi is dead on his feet the next morning. Jimin drops him off at the subway before the trains start running; he has to wait for the first train home. He's not in bed until quarter to six, and he has to wake up at eight to make it to practice on time. He shows up unshowered and bleary. His head rattles with the diffuse pains of a hangover. He's not late, but everyone else is already there, looking chipper and ready for the day, even Jimin, who is bright eyed and serious, a total departure from whatever he'd been the night before. 

Is this the act? Or was that? Or both? Yoongi's too tired to puzzle it out, but there's something in the flat unresponsive look Jimin gives him as he walks into the practice room that makes his stomach turn sour. 

The day is a trial. Yoongi keeps fucking up, and Jimin is quick with criticism – not cruel, never cruel, but exactingly fair and accurate. The room is too hot, and Yoongi is sweating through his tee shirt. His head aches. During a break he digs his bottle of aspirin out of his bag and swallows a few.

"Can I have two of those?" 

It's Jimin. Up close, he looks too pale, except for dark circles under his eyes. 

Yoongi shrugs and hands him the bottle. Jimin shakes out a few pills and swallows them dry. He gives Yoongi a brief smile, tense and emotionless, and then heads over to talks to Wonjae about some mistake he’d made. 

He says nothing about their adventure the night before. Yoongi wants to ask what Jimin’s genius friend has found out. It's a fly buzzing around his brain that he can't ignore, but he can't ask in front of the kids and when he goes to corner Jimin after their practice is over, he’s already disappeared. 

Pissed off and tired, Yoongi picks up fast food on the way home. He shoves some of the mess off of the couch onto the floor and sits and stares at his burger and fries, but his appetite is gone. He forces himself to eat and drinks a beer and flips through the channels on the television. 

He's been staring brain-dead vacant at the screen for hours when he realizes it's gotten late. The street outside his window is dark and quiet. His knees creak as he stands, and his back pops as he stretches. He takes a long shower, letting the hot water fog up the mirror. The heat soothes some of his aches, and the steady rhythm of the falling water calms some of the jangly angry anxiety making his chest tight. He closes his eyes and thinks about the previous night. It seems strange now, like he lived it as another person, a passenger in some foreign body. Maybe that’s how you cultivate that skill — that whatever it is that Jimin does where he can turn on a dime into some totally different version of himself.

It bothers Yoongi more than it should. He’s not a friendly guy. Never has been. He’s a not _people person_ but it pisses him off that he can’t get a read on Jimin. There have been moments when he thinks he’s seen through cracks in the façade but then the hard glossy shell goes back up and Yoongi can’t figure out what the hell Jimin is thinking, what the hell he’s supposed to do. 

It would be easier, much easier, if Jimin were merely the asshole he plays so well. Yoongi thinks he’s beautiful but there are lots of beautiful people in the world and Yoongi is used to that kind of rejection. There have been moments, though, when Jimin has seemed real and bright and genuine and sparked something in Yoongi’s heart. 

Fuck. 

Those eyes. Those lips. That _smile_. 

The warmth of Jimin’s body last night, as they sat pressed together on that fucking settee. 

It’s been a long, long time since Yoongi felt like this. It’s strange but familiar, like riding a bike again after a long break. He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against the tiled wall and jerks himself off quickly, thinking of Jimin: slim wrists and pale throat and beautiful Mona Lisa smile. 

He feels better after the shower, and he sleeps well that night. 

The next day he is early for practice, ready and eager to go. 

He pats Jungkook on the head as he walks in. 

“Hi hyung,” the kid says, looking up. “You look happy.” 

Yoongi shrugs, starting to stretch. “It’s a beautiful day out, Jungkook-ah.” 

He leans forward over his spread legs. His hamstrings protest.

Jimin watches, cold-eyed. 

“Yoongi-ssi, I need a word with you,” he says in an icy tone. 

Yoongi sits up. Jungkook goggles at him. “What did you do, hyung?” 

“Oh, could have been anything,” Yoongi says breezily. He gets to his feet awkwardly and walks over to Jimin, who is wearing a black tank top that clings to his chest and stomach and bares his shoulders.

“Hey,” Yoongi says quietly. “What’s up?” 

Jimin narrows his eyes and tilts his head. “Jungkook is right,” he says. “You do look happy.” 

“I’m hoping you have good news for me, Park Jimin,” Yoongi says.

Jimin shakes his head. “Not here,” he says. “After practice, meet me at the Holly’s Coffee over by the subway station. You know which one I mean?” 

Yoongi nods. He knows the place. 

“Good,” Jimin says. “Let’s say quarter after six.” 

“It’s a date,” Yoongi says, lifting one eyebrow and then immediately feeling like an idiot. 

To his surprise, Jimin just grins. “It’s a date,” he agrees. 

Oh. 

Practice that day is not one of Yoongi’s finer efforts. He’d distracted by what Jimin knows, and by the look on Jimin’s face when he’d agreed that it was a date. Yoongi isn’t actually an idiot. He’s not obsessing. There’s just a lot on the line here: his career and the fates of all these dumb kids and billions of won and who knows what else. Idol sea shanties seem even more inane than usual in comparison. 

It's a relief when Jimin finally announces that practice is over. It's five thirty, which gives Yoongi a little time to get cleaned up and change before he heads over to the coffee shop. He washes his face in the mirror and tries to pat his hair into some kind of order, but in the end just shoves on a snapback. He's somehow red-cheeked and hollow-eyed at once: overworked and exhausted. He scowls at his reflection. Jimin is still in the practice room with Jungkook, probably showing him the finer points of how to Heave Ho! or some shit. 

Whatever. It's better they don't leave together anyway. 

It's not a date, is the thing. It's not a date and it's not ever fucking going to be a date so Yoongi needs to get his head out of his ass and start concentrating on what matters, like getting this shit wrapped up so he can go back to... 

Well. Maybe it's better not to think of what he's going back to. 

He trudges to the coffee shop in the evening gloom. The wind hurries leaves down from the trees. Passersby are well wrapped in scarves and coats, nothing visible beyond their eyes and noses. Yoongi keeps his hands in his pockets, but he's still cold. He needs a warmer coat or something but the only heavy coat he has is decidedly not cool and not at all the kind of thing that Kim Yoongi would wear. 

Maybe he'll get Namjoon to go shopping with him again next weekend, if they don't have practice. 

The coffee shop is warm and bustling, with holiday decorations already hanging in the windows and fake snow decorating the pastry case. Yoongi shuffles to the counter and orders an americano. The place is pretty full: teenagers in school uniforms grabbing a coffee before they go to their lessons, well-dressed career men and women, chatting mothers with noisy, jabbering toddlers. 

When Yoongi gets his drink he picks his way through the crowd to a table in the back corner. He trods on some lady's foot – delicate toes in a red high heel – and mumbles an apology when she gives him an evil glare. He wants to tell her that maybe she should keep her giant foot under the table and out of the way, but he doesn't care that much, and besides, they're trying to keep a low profile here. Or something. 

It's another ten minutes or so before Jimin shows up. Somehow, he looks fresh and composed, wearing a black sweater and tight grey jeans, hair perfectly coiffed. 

Fuck. How the fuck does he do that? Is it something they teach in con artist school? Yoongi is a good, law abiding citizen, but he wouldn't mind learning that particular skill. 

Jimin gets a coffee and joins Yoongi at the little table. It's so close that their feet brush once as Jimin is getting settled. Yoongi pulls his quickly back, tucking his toes under the bar on his chair. 

"So," Yoongi says. He feels taut as a bow string, eager and waiting for whatever revelations Jimin is about to impart. 

Jimin is getting settled, a little fussy with his coffee and his phone and his napkins. He looks up, wide eyed, not unguarded but not bothering to put on one of his many airs. 

He clears his throat. "You did well during that last run through," 

Yoongi snorts. Deadpan, he says, "Gee. Thank you, sunbaenim." 

Jimin smiles. "Just saying." He shuffles his coffee and phone and napkin again, like he's playing some kind of mysterious shell game: within one of those objects is concealed some precious truth. 

"Jesus," Yoongi says. "You're awful. What did your friend find out?" 

Jimin huffs, annoyed. His cheeks are red, from the cold maybe. "You have no appreciation of style, hyung," he says, but still smiling. "No wonder you're a cop." 

"Hey," Yoongi says, folding his arms. He leans back in his chair. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

Jimin shrugs. "Nothing bad," he says. "You just say what you mean, I guess." 

"And you don't?" 

Jimin smiles, not so wide this time, a sphinx-like expression that doesn't really inspire much confidence on Yoongi's part.

"Anyway," Jimin says, wearily, reaching into his bag. "Bang Woohyun’s laptop wasn't quite the treasure trove of information I'd hoped, but there are a few interesting things." He slides a USB stick across the table to Yoongi, who palms it and slips it into his pocket. "We were right about the investments," Jimin says quietly. "There are several receipts in there for wire transfers from Auroch to Golden Calf accounts, each one for billions of won." 

Yoongi whistles, low. "Damn," he mutters. "Didn't think the pirate costumes cost that much." 

Jimin snorts. "I don't think they do," he says dryly. "But I can tell you that Seo bought a new condo a few month ago, and both he and Kwak have been wearing a lot of very nice new clothing." 

Yoongi shakes his head. "You think they'd be a little less blatant about it."

Jimin gives him a flat look. "They're not exactly geniuses," he says. "I know Kwak has never been involved in anything of this scale before. When we were working down in in the provinces we were pulling maybe forty, fifty million won at a time. Not bad for easy work, but not this kind of money. Not even close." 

Yoongi is folding and unfolding his napkin, an anxious little tick. It's hot and the windows are steamed up. Someone in a puffer coat pushes past to get to a table behind them, obscured behind a face mask. It's too close in here, and Yoongi wishes he hadn't gotten a coffee. He's not going to be able to sleep tonight. 

"Do you think Seo is really such a good salesman he managed to convince this guy to sink billions of won into an entertainment company with no track record or history at all preparing to debut a _nautical_ idol group?" Yoongi doesn't care who this Seo fucker is. There's no way Bang Woohyun is that stupid. 

Jimin shakes his head. "Not even close," he says. "I've known people who could sell salt water to a fisherman. Seo is just a pushy asshole who thinks he's charming." 

"So, what then?" Yoongi asks. 

Jimin pushes another piece of paper across the table. It's a rental agreement for a warehouse property out in Pyeongtak, signed by Seo Junho in his capacity as chairman and CEO of Golden Calf.

"Holy shit," Yoongi says. "This is the address on the invoice." 

Jimin nods. "Yes," he says. "That was in file with a wire transfer for exactly the amount of a year's rent on that place, paid cash." 

Yoongi frowns. "What the fuck? Seo’s using Golden Calf to rent this warehouse, and then having shit shipped there through this other company?” 

Jimin nods. "Apparently," he says. "I tried to drop some hints to Kwak and his guys, see if they knew anything about it, but either they don't know or they're not talking." 

"This is fishy as fuck," Yoongi says. 

Jimin nods. There's something urgent in his tone. "No kidding," he says. "We're supposed to be partners in this, but whatever Seo is doing there he's not breathing a word of it to the rest of us." 

"What else did your guy find out?" Yoongi needs more than this. He needs something concrete.

Jimin shakes his head. "Not that much," he says. "Some emails talking about a 'mutually beneficial deal'. Even if Seo's an idiot who is in over his head, Bang Woohyun and his guys aren't stupid. They've been around a long time. They're good at what they do." 

"What are we supposed to do now?" Yoongi frowns. "I can get me a subpoena for the company's records..." 

"No!" Jimin says, forcefully. "No. If we do that now they're just going to clean house and take off." He takes a sip of his own coffee. A little foam lingers on his red, plush upper lip. He licks it off. 

Yoongi swallows. 

"I think we need to go check out that warehouse," Jimin says, quietly. "I want to see what they're doing out there." 

Yoongi frowns. "That's going to be dangerous," he says. 

"You're a cop," Jimin says, lifting an eyebrow. "Aren't you used to putting your life on the line?" 

Yoongi shifts uncomfortably. "Of course I am," he says, a little too loudly. 

"Okay," Jimin says. "Well. Good. I think we should go as soon as possible. I was thinking Friday night, late –" 

That seems too soon to Yoongi, but he can’t think of any reason to object, other than the fact that what Jimin is proposing is illegal. He doesn’t think Jimin will find that a compelling argument. He’s not sure he does, in light of what he’s already done, already seen. “Fine,” he says. “Friday.” 

Jimin nods. “Good.” He finishes his coffee and starts gathering up his things. "I think they're going to have us shoot an MV soon," he says casually. 

Yoongi snorts. "Seriously?" 

Jimin nods, grinning. "Seo interviewed some directors. I saw the storyboard. Hope you're ready to practice your swashbuckling." 

"Oh god," Yoongi says, pulling on his jacket. "I am never going to live it down if this shit gets released." 

Jimin snorts. "It's not that bad," he says. "I guess you don't listen to much idol music, huh?" 

Yoongi rolls his eyes. "Not exactly," he says. 

"It's bad," Jimin says, zipping up his coat. "But I mean, it's not that much worse than what you normally see." 

Yoongi mutters an apology as he steps over the bag of the guy at the next table. Idiot left it sitting in way. The guy mutters something in return, pushing his chair back.

"Oh yeah? I'm hard pressed to think of anything that can rival sparkly pirates." 

Yoongi holds the door for an old lady with a pink hat. She smiles at them, toddling into the steamy shop. He ends up holding the door for Jimin too, and the asshole with the face mask who was sitting beside them. 

"Am I the fucking doorman or something?" he mutters. It feels good, though, when he finally steps out into the cool night. His head feels clearer away from the heat and noise. 

Jimin walks beside him. He took the subway today too, apparently. "I auditioned for a group," he says, "whose concept was 'alien rabbits'." 

Yoongi scoffs. "You're fucking with me," he says. "No way." 

Jimin nods. "Seriously. Alien rabbits. And another group whose concept was like, aliens with superpowers? You probably know which one I mean." 

Yoongi stares blankly. "Not an idol fan, remember?" 

Jimin rolls his eyes. "I can't believe I didn't see through you sooner, hyung. You're awful at this." 

Yoongi frowns. "Hey," he protests. "I'm a good rapper. And I'm probably like, the fourth best dancer in the group." 

Jimin giggles, high pitched and giddy. "There's only six of us." 

Yoongi can't suppress his smile. "You just don't appreciate my special relaxed dance style," he says. 

"Lazy, you mean," Jimin says. "You could be a lot better if you just tried." 

Yoongi shrugs. "If I was really planning to be an idol, maybe I would." 

Jimin is quiet. Then, he asks, "How'd you end up being a cop anyway? You don't really see the type..." 

Yoongi presses his lips together. This isn't a story he likes to tell.

"Didn't want to be," he mutters. "Never planned to be, until my dad passed away. In high school I wanted to be a rapper, or basketball player, or –" 

"You're a little short for that, don't you think?" Jimin asks archly. 

Yoongi bumps him with his shoulder. "I wouldn't talk. I'm at least a centimeter taller than you." 

"Yeah right," Jimin says. "Half a centimeter at –" 

Someone pushes past them, moving quickly. Long black padded coat, face mask. 

It's the guy from the cafe. Yoongi is instantly alert. Jimin realizes it too, because he goes quiet at Yoongi's side. Fuck. Is someone tailing them? Or is this just a garden variety stick up? A bustling city street lined with shops isn't really the place for it. Yoongi's mind goes to that calm, blank place where danger can sometimes send him. This guy is big, but a lot of it is the padded coat. Yoongi can take him down, maybe, if Jimin provides a distraction. 

The man stops a few meters ahead of them and turns. Yoongi leans forward. If he can tackle him, take him down to the sidewalk, Jimin should be able to get his arms and... Fuck. This is bad.

The man reaches for the mask covering his face, unhooks it slowly from one ear and lets it drop. He looks up. 

"Jungkook?" Jimin says, amazed.

Motherfucker. Yoongi exhales. "I almost had a fucking heart attack," he mutters. "Shit." 

"Jungkook-ah, what are you doing here?" Jimin's eyes are narrow, and his tone is serious and stern – leader talking to his unruly maknae. 

Jungkook's eyes are huge and wet and for a second Yoongi thinks he's crying. The emotion, though, is excitement. 

Practically trembling, Jungkook beams. "Hyungs, are you _spies_?" 

Jimin laughs, exasperated, closing his eyes and pressing a hand to his forehead.

Jungkook presses on. "Are you trying to bring down the bad guys? Can I help?" 

He looks every inch a sixteen-year-old kid, giddy and thrilled and not even a bit upset that they just revealed his dreams of debuting are about to go up in smoke. 

 

*****

They take a cab back to Yoongi's apartment. It's closer and it seems like the safer choice. On the way, they stop and get some food – Jungkook wants pizza, even though technically they're supposed to be dieting. He is wide eyed and buzzing with nervous excitement. Jimin sticks close by his side and tells him in a dark and serious tone that it's _very important_ that he keep quiet until they're in private. 

Yoongi digs in his bag for his keys and hopes that he didn't leave things too much a mess. This place is fine – he's lived here for years now, and his rent is cheap – but it's pretty small and not very fancy. Fortunately, he'd gotten fed up with the mess the other day and tidied up a little bit. There are still clothes on the couch, but at least there aren't too many dishes in the sink and his bed is kind of made. 

Jimin and Jungkook settle onto the couch while Yoongi gets plates and a roll of paper towels. Jungkook practically dives at the pizza. Kid doesn't eat enough, Yoongi thinks. He's skinny for his age, with that gawky look kids get when they're about to hit a growth spurt – and he’s already taller than Yoongi and Jimin both. He finishes his first slice of pizza in about three bites. It looks pretty gross – ham, shrimp and bacon with cream sauce. Yoongi is hungry too, honestly, but he's going have to take a pass. 

Halfway through his second slice, Jungkook asks, mouth full, "So are you guys really _spies_?" 

Jimin laughs again, amused. "Not spies, Jungkook-ah," he says, calmly. He glances at Yoongi quickly. 

Yoongi clears his throat. "I'm an officer of the Seoul Metropolitan Police," he says in as impressive a tone as he can manage. "I'm investigating Golden Calf Entertainment for fraud, Jungkook." 

Jungkook's eyes go wide. "Fraud?" 

Yoongi nods. "Manager Kwak and his gang were involved in a number of audition scams in Busan and Ulsan. Collecting audition fees and deposits for lessons and then vanishing." 

Jungkook's mouth falls open. "It's all... it's all just a scam?" He swallows. His face is pale. 

Yoongi nods slowly. Poor kid. 

"What about you?" Jungkook turns to Jimin. "Jimin hyung, are you a cop too?"

Jimin shakes his head slowly. "No," he says slowly. "I worked with Manager Kwak, Jungkook-ah." 

Jungkook's face falls. His narrow shoulders slump. Yoongi knows how much the kid looks up to Jimin. This has to be devastating. 

"But," Jimin says, "When I realized what Yoongi hyung was doing, I decided I wanted to help him." He takes a deep breath and puts a hand on Jungkook's shoulder. "What we were doing was wrong, Jungkook-ah. I want to make it right now." 

His expression is soft and sincere and there is real emotion in his voice. Jimin either means that, or he is a hell of an actor. 

Yoongi doesn't know which. Isn't sure it matters, honestly. 

Jungkook is quiet for a moment, staring into the mysterious saucy depths of the pizza. Then he sets his shoulder and looks up. 

"I want to help you," he says, fists clenched. "Maybe it is a scam. I didn't really think I was good enough to debut. I just thought I got lucky this time. It's not nice, taking advantage of people like this." His voice is tight and intense and his eyes are bright. "I want to help you bring them to justice, Officer Yoongi hyung." 

Yoongi laughs. It's not funny, really, but he can't help himself. This damn kid is a better person by half than either of them.

Jimin gives him a dirty look. He leans towards Jungkook. "It's not a game, Jungkook,” he says. "This is dangerous, and I don't want you to get hurt.” He sighs. “Maybe you should tell Kwak that you have to leave the company, that your parents want you to come home." 

Jungkook's face falls again. "They don't though," he says quietly.

Jimin sighs. "Jungkook-ah, it's not too late," he says. "You can always go back. You can always go home.”

"I want to be a singer," Jungkook says. His chin juts out stubbornly. "I'm _going _to be a singer, hyung. Maybe not with Golden Calf, but I will be. I'm not going home until I am."__

__Jimin shakes his head, regretful but resigned._ _

__Yoongi smiles, though. "You're a hell of a kid, Jungkook. Jimin is right, though. This is dangerous. I think the best thing you can do right now is keep working hard, like you've been doing, and keep your ears and eyes open. Maybe you'll notice something we've missed."_ _

__Jungkook nods, begrudgingly. "Okay, hyung," he says, and then quickly adds, "But if you think of anything else I can help with you'll let me know, right?"_ _

__"Of course," Yoongi says emphatically._ _

__Jimin is giving him a dirty look, but fuck, he'll have to deal with that later. He's not going to fuck everything up now just because Jeon Jungkook can't mind his own business. He is a good kid, anyway, and he does just want to help._ _

__"Eat some more pizza," Yoongi says magnanimously, "And then I'll drive you home, okay?" He frowns. "Where are you staying, anyway? You’re not in the dorms, right?"_ _

__Jungkook swallows. "Um," he says. "About that..."_ _

__*****_ _

__"I wish you'd take the bed, kid," Yoongi says peevishly._ _

__Jungkook, wearing pajama pants with ducks on them and a hoodie, shakes his head. "No," he says. "It's fine, hyung. The couch is really comfortable. I'm fine there."_ _

__It's been three days since Jungkook found them out, and since they found him out in turn. Yoongi hadn't been too surprised to learn the kid has been staying in jjimjilbangs for months. The room he arranged before he came up from Busan turned out to be a scam, and he’d had nowhere else to go._ _

__Jungkook insisted that it was fine and he was very careful and the sauna floors were really more comfortable than you'd think, but Yoongi and Jimin had immediately told him that no, there was no way they were going to let him go back to the sauna. They'd had a quick, huddled conversation in Yoongi's bedroom and decided that the only possibility was for Jungkook to say with Yoongi – Jimin's apartment was too far and it seemed unwise to move him into the dorm with the other kids immediately after revealing so much._ _

__Jungkook had sulked and protested but when Jimin had threatened to take away all of his lines in Heave Ho! he'd come around. Jimin had gone home then and Yoongi had driven the kid around to collect his stuff (most of it stashed in the back room of the restaurant where he washed dishes). He'd been bashful and apologetic and awkward. When Yoongi had gotten up the next morning, he found Jungkook wide awake, already having done all the dishes and folded Yoongi's clothes._ _

__Thank god he's relaxed a bit._ _

__He still insists on sleeping on the couch though._ _

__"I'm going to take a shower," Yoongi says. "Gotta wash all this crap out. Jesus. I can't believe I fucking let them bleach my hair. I look like a moron."_ _

__Jungkook – whose hair is still black, lucky punk – frowns. "No you don't, hyung," he says. "Your hair looks so cool. I wish I’d gotten to dye mine."_ _

__Yoongi snorts. They'd all been sent to the hair dressers today in preparation for their upcoming MV shoot. Jimin had been right about that. Yoongi emerged after six hours of torture with platinum blonde hair, artfully tousled in a way he knows he'll never be able to manage on his own._ _

__He'd stared at his unfamiliar reflection, unsure of what to think. The color washed him out, and the bangs made his cheeks look round. His only consolation is that he's not the worst off of the bunch. Byungchul has an orange mohawk, and Hyungjoon's hair is green._ _

__"Makes me look like an egg custard," Yoongi mutters._ _

__"No," Jungkook says. "You look good, hyung. Jimin hyung said he thought you looked hot with your new hair."_ _

__Yoongi snorts. "Jimin said what?"_ _

__Jungkook, who took the first shower, waves a hand. "Well not like that," he says. "Hyungjoon was whining about his hair. He said it wasn't fair for the visual to have the ugliest hair and it should have been you or Wonjae but Jimin hyung yelled at him and said that not everyone uh, has the bone structure to pull off platinum hair like Yoongi hyung."_ _

__"Huh," Yoongi says._ _

__"That's what he said," Jungkook says blithely, "But I think what he meant is that he thought you looked really hot, hyung."_ _

__Yoongi snorts. "You've got quite the imagination, Jungkook-ah."_ _

__Jungkook grins from beneath the hood of his sweatshirt._ _

__"Order some food," Yoongi says. "Whatever you want."_ _

__"Pizza?" Jungkook's eyes light up._ _

__Yoongi groans. "Not pizza. I’m going to turn into a pizza if we eat pizza again."_ _

__Jungkook pouts. "Chicken, then?"_ _

__"Sure," Yoongi says. "Chicken sounds good."_ _

__Jungkook is happily perusing the menu when Yoongi steps into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. He pulls off his shirt and kicks off his jeans and scowls at himself in the mirror._ _

__Egg custard might be a bit harsh, but it is a big change. He's never dyed his hair before. It looks strange. He rolls his eyes at Jimin and his talk of 'good bone structure'. Yoongi's own mother told him he looked like a dumpling the first time she saw him with his head shaved for his military service._ _

__"Idiot," he mutters, not knowing quite who he's talking about. Maybe both of them. They have more important things to worry about than hair dye._ _

__He strips out of his boxers and turns on the hot water. Once it's steaming he steps under the spray and closes his eyes. Thursday night, and he's tired and sore after a long week of practice. They have practice all day tomorrow, and tomorrow night Yoongi and Jimin are going to drive to Pyeongtak and see what they can find out about Auroch Imports._ _

__Yoongi would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous. He's fucking terrified. This is an incredibly risky thing to do and as much as he'd like to think he can trust Jimin there's still some seed of doubt in his brain he can't quite squash. He closes he eyes and lets the water run down his face._ _

__Fuck. That's tomorrow's worry. He shuts off the water and dries off. He'll change into pajamas and go eat shitty greasy chicken and maybe even have a beer while Jungkook makes him watch some dumb variety show._ _

__He scowls at himself in the mirror again. His white blonde hair hangs around his face, stringy and limp. The hair stylist nuna gave him some conditioning treatment to use at home, but that's going to have to wait for another night. There's a zit on his chin, and he needs to shave._ _

__Good bone structure. Fuck. Jimin is such a punk._ _


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick content warning: this chapter contains some mild violence and one scene where a character gets stitches.

They park the car a few miles away from the site, in the middle of a block full of shabby mixed-use buildings. It's late enough that everything is quiet. Windows are dark, neon signs extinguished. Jimin turns the car off but doesn't take his hands off the steering wheel. They're driving some utterly unremarkable old Hyundai sedan. Not Jimin's, he thinks, but Jimin showed up driving it. Yoongi doesn't think he wants to know where Jimin got it.

"You ready?" Jimin asks. 

He's dressed in black: Black jeans, black sweatshirt, black baseball cap pulled low over his forehead. He looks tense.

Yoongi frowns. "Wish we had some fucking backup." 

"Too late to worry about that now. Let's just do it," Jimin says. His fingers flex against the steering wheel, digging in, knuckles white, and then he lets go. 

Car doors slam shut. Yoongi tugs his beanie down over his ears, tucks away an errant lock of blonde hair. It's a cold night, but he isn't wearing a jacket. Too bulky. Jimin shoves his hands in his pockets. They walk ten minutes or so through a neighborhood of garages and warehouses and businesses. Traffic noises in the distance. A cat yowls in an alley. Rustling leaves. The moon is round and heavy in the sky, brilliantly luminous. 

They reach a fence. The gate is locked – solid chain secured with a thick padlock. Jimin frowns at it, like he can open it with the force of his disapproval alone. 

"We’re going to have to climb," he says after a minute, looking up. "At least there's no barbed wire." 

Yoongi rolls his eyes. No fucking kidding. The fence isn't that tall. Yoongi can probably get his ass up and over this. Maybe. Either that or he'll fall and break his neck. He pushes up his sleeves and ... 

"Not here," Jimin says. "C'mon." 

They turn the corner. Halfway down the block Jimin seems to find a section of fence more to his liking. They're on the side of the warehouse now, and there's just a narrow strip of choked, weedy ground between the side of the building and the fence. Yoongi looks up. Hesitates. It's not higher, but it looks higher somehow. Fuck. He's never had great upper body strength.

Jimin makes a stifled noise in his throat. "I'll give you a hand up," he says, cupping his hands. 

Yoongi frowns. 

"Come on," Jimin says. "Don't you want to get this over with?" 

Yoongi really fucking does. He steps forward into Jimin's hand – so small and soft-looking that Yoongi almost feels bad, but he knows how strong Jimin is. Jimin boosts him up and his fingers scrabble but then he catches the top bar and heaves himself up. The wires dig into his belly as he flops over like a fish. He drops heavily onto the ground on the far side of the fence. Jolt that rattles his teeth. He catches himself with his hands. Dirt and gravel dig into his palms. Fuck. 

Jimin jumps higher than seems probable and catches the top bar on his own, and then vaults over like he's fucking doing some kind of Olympic sport, landing lightly on his feet. 

"Showoff," Yoongi mutters. 

Jimin grins at him for just a second. "Come on," he says. 

They creep through the knee-deep weeds. This isn't some tidy and well-kept corporate property. Debris litters the ground. Jimin stumbles at one point, and Yoongi catches him with an arm on the shoulder. 

"Careful," Yoongi mutters. 

"Sorry," Jimin whispers. 

They reach the far corner of the building without further incident. Yoongi's heart is thudding loudly. It's not like he's never done anything like this before. He's gone into situations he's known to be far more dangerous, but he's always a partner and backup and a _plan_. They really have no idea what the fuck they might find here. He's trusting Jimin on this, and that's not something Yoongi is sure he should be doing. 

Too fucking late to worry about that now, though. 

There's a yard in the back of the building: cracked cement loading dock, flickering light over the back door. A box truck tagged with some faded graffiti. Yoongi frowns at this bleak scene over Jimin's shoulder for a moment before Jimin motions for him to follow. They stick close to the wall, and creep towards the back door. It's locked, but not padlocked, and Jimin does something quick and skillful looking with a little metal tool he takes from his pocket. 

"I guess the great and mysterious Jay taught you that?" Yoongi asks, eyebrow raised. 

Jimin nods. "He taught me the basics. I've picked up a few other tricks over the years." 

He slips the tool back into his pocket and slowly pulls open the door. 

The hinges whine. Jimin freezes. They look at each other. Nobody jumps out of the shadows. They're _fairly certain_ there's no one here, not at this hour. Jimin huffs and pulls the door the rest of the way open, ignoring the squeal. 

The door opens onto a vast dark space. There are windows high up that let in some of that moonlight but it's not enough for them to see by. Black shapes loom in the dark room. Everything is silent and still.

Jimin rummages in his pocket and takes out a tiny flashlight. The beam is narrow and intensely bright. He sweeps it across the room, revealing pallets of crates and boxes. Unremarkable. The kind of thing you'd expect to find in a warehouse, honestly. 

"That's it?" Yoongi mutters, but even this quiet complaint echoes in the big room.

Jimin frowns at him and holds a finger to his lips. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes but feels abashed. He knows better. He's not some fucking first timer. It's just been so long since he's done anything that requires him to use more than a quarter of his brain. 

Jimin steps forward into the dark room. It smells old and stale. Yoongi touches one of the boxes and the cardboard is crumbly under his fingers. How long has this shit been in here? The ground is fuzzed with dust. Yoongi's foot bumps something. A can rolls across the cement floor, echoing emptily. Cass Ice Light. Fuck. 

Jimin looks back at him, eyes wide. "Scared me," he says softly. The beam of his light swings around in a wide arch, settles on the nearest stack of boxes. He pokes at the frayed corners, at the peeling shipping label. 

Yoongi tears the peeling tape off the box and pulls it open and Jimin shines the light inside. It smells stale and ancient and is full of cans of imitation crab meat, imported from overseas. Jimin reaches in and picks one up. The label has come unglued. It flops sadly off the can. 

"Expired," he says. "In 2002." 

Yoongi frowns. "What is all this garbage?" 

"Must have been here when they signed the lease," Jimin says, peering into the box. "This is all expired."

He puts the can back and Yoongi shuts the box. 

"Who the fuck rents a warehouse full of expired food?" Yoongi mutters. 

Jimin shrugs. "Come on," he says. "Let's keep looking around." 

They cross the warehouse floor. More piles of collapsed boxes. Broken pallets. Crates of newspaper and broken glass. Cigarettes snubbed out in a soju bottle. Beer cans. Garbage. Loud footfalls in the dark quiet. The silvery moonlight on Jimin's hair.

An involuntary shudder runs down Yoongi’s spine.

Three quarters of the way across the room, they cross some kind of invisible boundary. Beyond this point someone has swept up. A pile of debris and dirt sits near a forlorn broom and dustpan. There's no garbage can, so it seems they were stymied in their cleaning attempt. The old crap has been shoved off to the side and there are three pallets of boxes that look newer. Jimin turns the flashlight on them but it seems riskier to open one of these. They circle the pile. Jimin frowns. 

There's a darker shape against the dark blank of the far wall. "Hey," Yoongi says, touching Jimin's shoulder. "Over there." 

There's an open box by the door. Jimin crouches down, flashlight held in one hand. He frowns and pulls a plastic-wrapped package from the box. 

Yoongi takes it from him. He's seen this before. He opens the plastic wrapping and pulls out a purse. "Counterfeit," he says. He turns the package over. "The logo is wrong." 

Jimin looks up at him, nose wrinkled. "Do you buy a lot of handbags, hyung?" 

Yoongi snorts. "I was part of a special team trained to identify and remove counterfeit products from the market. Spent fucking months memorizing logos and brand markers.” 

He drops the purse back into the box. 

Jimin stands up and wipes his hands.

There’s another couple of open boxes stacked nearby. Yoongi looks in them too. One is full of wallets to match the purse, and the other has boxes of sheet masks. All knockoffs. So that’s what Seo’s been up to. 

"Receiving counterfeit goods," Yoongi says. He's trying to remember the appropriate section of criminal law. That should be good for a few years of jail time, at least. 

"Come on," Jimin says. "I want to go look in there." He swings the flashlight towards the shut door. 

Yoongi doesn't move. "We've been here a while," he says. "Don't you think this is enough?" 

Jimin looks down at the box scornfully. "This? This is nothing." 

Yoongi frowns. "It’s enough to get an arrest warrant," he says.

Jimin rolls his eyes. "That doesn't mean anything," he says. "Seo knows people. Powerful people. He'd get off with a slap on the wrist if you try to bring him down for passing counterfeit goods." His voice is low, harsh. "I'm not trying to piss him off. I'm going to _destroy_ him." 

Yoongi has nothing to counter that vehemence. "Fine," he says. "Let’s be quick. I want to get the fuck out of here.”

"We will be. I just want to take a look," Jimin says, gesturing towards the door.

Slowly, he reaches for the doorknob. Yoongi mouths a secret wish for it to be locked, but no such luck. It creaks as Jimin pulls it open to reveal a dimly lit hallway beyond. The dirty linoleum floor stretches on beneath flickering fluorescent lights. There's a strange stink in the air. Jimin turns off his flashlight and starts to move, but Yoongi stops him. 

"I'll go first," he mutters. 

He's the goddamn cop. The professional. He's not going to cower behind Jimin. 

Ten meters, then twenty. A closed door on their right. An open door on the left – room full of shelves and boxes. That harsh chemical smell is stronger, so strong it burns his nose. It's familiar, somehow, but Yoongi can't place it. 

They reach an intersection. The hall branches to the left and continues straight. To the left the hall continues for a few dozen more meters before it turns. There's a light on down there, and maybe, very faintly, the noise of people talking. 

Yoongi's heart is pounding. He glances back at Jimin. Jimin's face is grim. He and Yoongi lock gazes. Yoongi looks away first. Fine. They'll go a little further. This is going to end badly. Something in his gut tells him that, but he won't back down first. 

They stick close to the right wall. Yoongi can hear his own breathing, hear Jimin's breathing, loud and a little ragged. The noise down the hall resolves to the friendly chatter of prerecorded voices. The light shifts and moves. Ah. Someone's watching television. 

They reach the corner, where the hallway turns. Yoongi swallows. He feels almost sick. He holds up a hand for Jimin to stay where he is, and then moving as quietly and as slowly as he can, he leans forward and looks around the corner. 

A room: maybe ten meters by ten meters. A television on a desk. Stupid entertainment show playing. Yoo Jaesuk laughs at Kim Jongkook's distress. A man, sitting on milk crate, leans back against the wall. His arms are folded on his chest. One of the counterfeit sheet masks covers his face. 

On top of two tables stacked against the far wall are some bundles wrapped roughly in plastic and tape. One is sliced open to reveal a block of off-white powder. 

Scales. Baggies. All the prerequisite equipment. 

Yoongi has seen this before.

Jimin pushes forward, chin on Yoongi's shoulder. Yoongi can't see his expression but he can feel the way he goes tense, hear the sharp breath he draws in. 

The man in the face mask shifts. He's a big guy with tattoos all up and down his arms, on the sliver of chest and stomach revealed by his unbuttoned shirt. 

Yoongi shifts his weight to his back foot. No good way out of this situation except to retreat. They're not prepared to deal with this. The only good decision they can make right now is to get out of here before they run into some other goon looking for a dewy complexion. 

He steps backwards – and right onto Jimin's foot. 

Jimin squeaks. He throws his hands over his mouth but it's too late. Sleeping beauty in the other room groans. The laugh track on the television show swells to new heights of amusement. 

Jimin's eyes are huge. Yoongi breathes in and out. The man with the face mask mumbles something to himself. 

"Let's go," Yoongi mouths. Slowly they turn and start back down the hall. The noise of the man in the other room recedes. Yoongi closes his eyes for an instant. Maybe they'll get out of this. Maybe they'll get through this without anything ... 

Jimin missteps and catches himself on Yoongi's arm. His shoes squeak against the linoleum. 

"Who the fuck is out there?" The man’s voice echoes, loud and harsh. 

Fuck. 

"Run," whispers Jimin. 

Break neck they tear down the hallway and back into the warehouse. Jimin shoves the door open so hard it hits the wall – Bang! They can hear the man behind them – grunting, disoriented, but rising quickly to action. The warehouse is dark. The faint moonlight is obscured by cloud. Yoongi doesn't know where Jimin's flashlight is. Did he drop it? It would be nice to be able to fucking see _something_. 

They are halfway across the warehouse floor when they hear the man behind them open the door. 

"Stop fucking running away, rats," the man yells. “Who sent you? Yoon?” His harsh voice rings in the darkness. 

Yoongi's heart is throbbing in his ears and his throat is dry. Jimin is just ahead of him, indistinct in the dark. Next stride the ground slides out from under Yoongi. A piece of stray cardboard goes spinning away and he falls hard, catching himself on his left side. His elbow throbs. Concussive ache. He grunts, and scrambles to find traction. Jimin looks back, hesitates, reaches for Yoongi's hand. The big man is coming closer, cursing and growling as he makes his way through the obstacle course of refuse and debris. 

Yoongi takes Jimin's hand and Jimin hauls him to his feet and then they're pounding away to the open door at the far end of the warehouse. Jimin is faster and reaches the door first. He's outside. Their pursuer shoves a box aside. The din is tremendous as dusty cans of expired imitation crab go flying everywhere. 

Then Yoongi is outside under the wide cloud strewn sky. Jimin is rounding the corner. Yoongi is close on his heels. They dash down the weed-choked side yard, and then they are at the place in the fence where they both climbed over.

"Go first," Yoongi yells to Jimin, who is waiting for him, frowning, ten meters ahead. There's a deafening crash as the back door of the warehouse slams open. "Don't be some kind of noble fucking idiot, Jimin. Go!" 

Jimin frowns but then jumps up and then hauls himself over the top of the fence. Yoongi gets to the spot a moment later and it must be the adrenaline because he jumps up and his fingers catch the top bar of the fence. Burning pain as his joints stretch, but he holds on and then pulls himself up. The fence digs into his belly, but he gets one leg over. The big asshole from the warehouse is blundering around the corner but it's too late. They're free. They're not going to ... 

Fuck. Yoongi is stuck. His sweatshirt is caught on the fence. He pulls, leaning forward. The fabric is caught and tugs, half choking him. 

"Come on!" Jimin yells. He grabs the back of Yoongi's hood and pulls. Yoongi heaves himself forward with as much force as he can muster. The hoodie is a nice one but it's just cotton. The fabric tears and Yoongi topples right into Jimin. They land on the ground in a heap. Yoongi's sweatshirt is torn, a big hole right over his belly. The man comes thundering up, rattling the chain link fence, screaming profanity and horror at them. He jumps up, but he's too big. He can't get over. 

"You fucking rats," he hollers. "Blue Rose scum! Get over here and let me get a look at your faces." 

Yoongi turns, hood pulled low, and gives him the finger. 

Jimin makes an exasperated noise and grabs him by the hand and they take off, sprinting down the street. 

They run fast and careless, eating up the dirty blocks. The noise of the large man's furor fades, replaced by the more familiar nighttime murmur of the city. Yoongi's chest is burning and his stomach hurts for some reason and his thighs ache, but he feels some lightening slick sense of terror and wonder and elation. They did it. They went in and got out and now they are running giddy towards freedom and escape.

Yoongi’s always liked this kind of thing, secretly. Liked the danger. Been wooed by the romance of it. Reveled in the triumph of living to fight another day. He never talked about this feeling with the other guys. It sounded bad, somehow, saying that he liked the thrill of it. Unbecoming a Seoul Metropolitan Police Officer. Not why he’d signed up. 

He does like it though. Min Yoongi wasn’t born to be one of the good guys. It just ended up working out that way. 

Jimin comes to a stumbling halt and Yoongi nearly bowls him over.

"What's wrong?" Yoongi asks. His voice comes out a croak. 

Jimin, hands behind his head, grins. "We're at the car." 

Oh. Yoongi stares dumbly. The old Hyundai had been driven totally from his mind. 

He stares at Jimin for a moment, thoughts churning. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what to think. He knew that Director Seo was a sleazy, miserable asshole out to make a quick buck, but he hadn't imagined that Golden Calf was tangled up in shit this bad. If they're selling hard drugs that means they're connected much more closely with organized crime than Yoongi suspected. Hard drug crimes are the purview of the National Affairs Bureau. They’d never let Yoongi stay on the case. If he goes to Superintendent Shim now with this, what's going to happen to the fraud investigation? What's ... 

"Hey," Jimin says, touching his arm. 

Yoongi blinks at him. 

Jimin frowns, looking down at Yoongi’s waist. He touches Yoongi's stomach, where his sweatshirt is ripped. His fingers come up red. 

Yoongi looks down too. His tee shirt is torn too, and there's a shallow gash a few inches long, red and vivid against the pale skin of his belly. Blood runs down, soaking his black shirt, sticking it to his skin. 

"Fuck," he mutters. He can feel it throb in time with his pulse.

"Come on," Jimin says. "Let's go. I know someone who can get this cleaned up for you.” 

Dumb, almost dazed, Yoongi nods. He opens the door and drops into the passenger seat. Jimin turns the key in the ignition, glances in the rearview mirror, and puts the car into drive, and they're gone. 

******

“Just a few stitches,” the woman says. 

Yoongi pressed his hands to his belly as they drove back to Seoul, through the quiet night. He was bleeding, but not too badly. The pain ebbed and waxed and he found himself staring out the windows at the street lights without thinking very much of anything at all. 

Jimin made a brief and cryptic phone call on the way, and rather than go back to his apartment they pulled into the garage of a nice building in Gangnam. Jimin helped Yoongi out of the car. Yoongi’s head swam, and he leaned heavily against Jimin. His hands were red with his own blood. They took the elevator up to an office on the twenty fourth floor with no nameplate on the door. Jimin knocked, and a beautiful woman with silver hair and a kind smiled opened the door as if she was expecting them.

Now Yoongi is laying on an exam table in the kind woman’s office. His ruined shirt and sweatshirt sit in the corner. The kind woman – a doctor, he thinks, but she does not give a name and Yoongi does not ask – wipes down his wound with some foul-smelling antiseptic. With the blood gone, Yoongi can see the long, shallow cut dissecting the flat pale of his belly, just above his navel. 

“Not very serious, Yoongi-ssi,” she says. “Just a few stiches to keep it closed, and of course you’ll need a tetanus shot.” 

Yoongi swallows. 

“Does it hurt?” Jimin asks, more curious than concerned. 

“No,” Yoongi says. “Yeah. I mean. It does, but not bad really. Stiches, though? It’s not that bad. Can’t you just put a band-aid on it?” 

The woman chuckles. “No, I think not,” she says. “It will just open up again and take longer to heel.”

She turns to her cabinets to get the supplies. 

Yoongi closes his eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” Jimin asks, a little worry creeping into his voice now. “You’re shaking worse than when we got chased, hyung.” 

“I really don’t care for needles,” Yoongi says through gritted teeth. 

The woman with the silver hair turns back to Yoongi. The needle pinched between two fingers gleams. 

Yoongi swallows. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like this. He’ll go back and let that guy chase him again. He just really doesn’t like the way that needle gleams so coldly under these weird florescent lights. 

Jimin grabs his hands, links their fingers together. The heat of his soft palm seems to settle the trembling in Yoongi’s throat a little. 

Jimin leans down. “You just ran away from an armed thug guarding a meth lab,” his voice is fond, warm, amused. “You’re Officer Min Yoongi. You’ve got this.” 

“Yeah,” Yoongi says weakly. 

The doctor leans forward. The needle gleams wickedly. Preemptive tears well in his eyes. 

“You got this,” Jimin whispers again. He squeezes Yoongi’s hand hard, and Yoongi squeezes back. 

He’s got this. He’s got this. He’s … 

“Oh fuck!” 

*****

"Here you go," Jimin says, as he hands Yoongi a cup of tea. Steam rises from the ceramic mug – textured stoneware. Very nice. 

"Thanks," Yoongi says. He's on the couch at Jimin’s apartment, wearing a pair of soft sweatpants and a hoodie that Jimin found for him. He showered and is somewhat recovered from the trauma of his surgery. He's going be sore in the morning, but for now he feels okay.

Jimin sits down across from him. He showered and changed too, and he looks tired and young and nothing at all like the person who only hours before eagerly trespassed into the shady warehouse of a suspicious criminal organization. 

"Jimin," Yoongi says. "I need to go to the Superintendent with this." 

Jimin exhales deeply. "Do you _have_ to?" 

Yoongi frowns. "What the do you mean? Of course I have to. They’re fucking cooking meth. They’re distributing. This isn't a game. This is a big fucking deal.” 

Jimin's eyes narrow. "And defrauding the kids isn't?" 

Yoongi laughs. "Are you serious? That was _your idea_." 

Jimin's shoulders hunch and the corners of his lips drop. "Yeah," he says. "I get it. I was wrong, though, and I never wanted it to go this far. It wasn't supposed to... He's fucking with those kids, Yoongi." 

"Yeah," Yoongi says. "I get it, Jimin. I'm working for the same thing you are. I'm trying to..." 

"You're trying to do your job," Jimin says. He's full of some strange and angry energy now, standing, pacing back and forth along the length of the couch. "A job you never _wanted_." 

Yoongi starts to protest but Jimin cuts him off. 

"No," Jimin says. "I'm not stupid. I know you got stuck with this assignment and you're trying to make the best of it.” He exhales. His hands are clenched into fists. "But honestly, what's going to happen if you tell the Superintendent about this?" 

Yoongi frowns. "Drug crimes are prosecuted severely," he says. "The case will get turned over to National Affairs. They’ll arrest Seo and Kwak. Raid the warehouse. See who else they can haul in." 

He does not need to say that Jimin is high on the list of ‘who else’.

"And?" Jimin's hands are on his lips. The sleeves of his tee shirt are too long. They cover his hands. It's a strange contrast: Jimin's dark wet hair falling in his face. His bare feet and pink toes. His too-big tee shirt. The fixed, furious expression on his face. The tension in every line of his body. 

Yoongi frowns. "And... what? Isn't that what you want? To bring them to justice?" 

Jimin snorts. "Justice? You think that if Seo and Kwak get arrested they're going to be brought to _justice_." 

Yoongi shrugs. "I'm no fucking prosecutor but it's an open and closed case, Jimin. No class of crimes is prosecuted more severely than drug violations." 

Jimin huffs. "Do you really think that? Do you really think there’s _justice_ in the world for men like Seo?” 

Yoongi's not naive. He knows how this shit works. "What the fuck do you want me to do?" He sits up. The cut on his stomach burns. Dancing with this thing is going to be fucking torture. "Take the law into my own hands? Become some fucking vigilante? I'm not... I don't know what you think, Jimin, but I'm just one fucking man. This whole country – No, this entire world is fucked up, but what do you think I can do about it?" 

"So you're just like the rest of them," Jimin says coldly. 

"Like the rest of _who?_ " Fuck. Yoongi's face is all hot and he feels shaky. Blood loss and adrenaline have drained away the night's earlier elation. Now he just feels sick. 

"Everyone," Jimin says. He sits down heavily, elbows on knees. "Just like everyone in this whole fucked up country. You think the system is going to bring Seo and Kwak to justice? Seo is a wealthy man. He knows important people. Look at what happened to his father. The law _serves_ men like that. It doesn’t censure them. Nothing's going to happen to him." 

It's true. It's true and Yoongi knows it in his gut. He's known it for years. Ever since his dad died and his poor fucking mother got stuck with that asshole’s debt. There's no such thing as justice. The world isn't fair, and nobody gives a shit. 

"What do you think I can do about it?" He sounds so tired. Everything is hitting him at once. Pain and exhaustion and this worse feeling: the truth that everything he tells himself about following the rules and doing the right thing and serving the law is just bullshit to help him get some sleep at night. 

Jimin frowns. "I don't need you to do anything about it," he says. He hunches his shoulders again. "I just need you to give me a little more time. Don't go to your boss yet. Tell him you're still investigating." 

Yoongi frowns, thinking of having to stare down Shim across the vast mahogany plain of his desk, bearing the full brunt of his scorn. He's not going to be happy, but then there's a good chance that nothing that Yoongi does would make him happy. 

"Yeah," he says. "Okay. And then what?" 

Jimin smiles. It's a forced, angry smile. "I have an idea," he says.

"An idea?" Yoongi frowns. "For what?" 

"Seo only wants one thing,” he says. “Money. This arrangement with Bang Woohyun’s guys is worth a lot, but it's risky. It’s so much more risky than I thought. What if we offer him something with much less downside?" 

"What's that?" Yoongi asks. 

There is a long pause while Jimin seems to gather courage. He breathes in, and then says, “Don’t laugh, hyung. Seo is always complaining about how expensive it is to train and provide for a team of idols. What if we propose that he invest in Korea's first totally virtual idol group?" 

Yoongi scoffs. “Virtual idols? What the fuck is that? Where’d you come up with that idea?”

Jimin grins wryly. “It’s a thing in Japan, apparently. Vocaloids. I caught Jungkook watching one of the videos. He was embarrassed – the virtual idols were scantily clad -- but I made him explain to me what it was.” 

“And you think you can convince Seo to invest in this virtual idol group.”

Yoongi is skeptical. This is an even stupider idea than the pirate costumes. 

Jimin shakes his head. "No," he says. "Not me. I finally tracked down my old partner. I’m going to see if he’s up for one last job, for old time’s sake.”


	11. Chapter 11

"Hey," Yoongi says, dropping into the front seat of Jimin's slick little black car. It's early on a Saturday morning. There's no practice today; they have a different mission. They are going to visit Jimin's old partner, and they are going to convince him to pretend to be the CEO of Korea’s first all virtual entertainment company. 

Somehow. 

"You're sure you want to come?" Jimin asks. No greeting. He doesn't even look over. 

"Yeah," Yoongi says. "I told you that I do." 

Jimin frowns. He’s said over and over that there's no need for Yoongi to accompany him but Yoongi wants to go and meet this amazing Jay character. 

He wants to go and hear what Jimin has to say himself. It's not that he doesn't trust Jimin... 

Well. He doesn't trust Jimin. Not really. Not totally. Not yet.

"Okay," Jimin says, and he puts on his sunglasses. 

It's a fine winter day and they're headed out of the city. The roads are clear and the sky is blue. Yoongi doesn't know where they're going; it's not worth the fucking trouble to ask Jimin. He leans back in the seat and crosses his arms. Jimin turns on the radio low. Yoongi thinks he recognizes the song playing but he can't quite make it out. Doesn't matter. The heat is on too high and he feels sleepy. He’ll just close his eyes for a moment…

He wakes up when they're outside of the city, going fast on the Yeongdong Expressway. Jimin’s sunglasses are off now and he's singing along to some girl group song rather enthusiastically.

When the song ends and Jimin stops singing, Yoongi says, "I think we should do something like that for our second single." 

Jimin startles, just the barest widening of his eyes, and then snorts. "It would be better than Heave Ho!," he says. 

Yoongi shrugs. "That shit’s kind of grown on me, actually." He blinks. His eyes are gummy from sleep. "Heave ho, heave ho," he says dispiritedly. "Hey, at least the lyrics are easy to remember." 

Jimin shakes his head, apparently horrified that Yoongi would even say such a thing. 

Yoongi sits up. He feels muzzy and warm from his nap. They're in the middle of nowhere now, skirting some hills cut with empty fields. The trees are all bare, and the ground is grey.

"Where are we?" he asks. 

"Somewhere in Gangwon," Jimin says. "We passed the turn off for Hoengseong a half an hour ago." 

"Mmm," Yoongi says. He doesn't know this area very well. That means nothing to him.

"My phone says another forty minutes," Jimin says. 

Yoongi nods. "You really think you can talk this Jay guy into helping us?" 

Jimin shrugs. "I'm going to try." He frowns. "I hope I can." 

Yoongi shifts. His ass hurts from sitting for so long. "I'm sure we can find someone else if you can't. You've got all your –" He wiggles his fingers vaguely. "–connections. You must know somebody else." 

Jimin shakes his head and surprisingly vehemently says, "No," he says. "Jay is the best. If we can't get him to help us we'll figure something else out, but..." He hesitates. "He'll agree, I think." 

"Okay," Yoongi says. "Sure."

He closes his eyes again but can't sleep. Jimin turns up the music and starts singing along to some other dumb idol song. How does he have time to memorize all of these? Maybe it's some kind of freakish talent. Perfect recall of all idiotic pop songs. 

Could be. 

Soon enough they're passing into the outskirts of Gangneung. Yoongi's never been here before, but one of the guys at the station comes for vacation every year. He says it's the most beautiful stretch of coast in Korea. The neighborhoods they pass through now aren't really anything special – little apartment buildings, humble shops – but maybe the beach will prove more spectacular. They drive through the modest downtown and turn north on the road along the coast, and okay, Yoongi can admit the view is nice. There's a fine strip of white sand skirting the blue sea on one side of the road, and on the other a strip of hotels and restaurants and hostels. He only gets to enjoy a bit of it though before Jimin is turning into a parking lot. 

It's a relief to finally get out of the car. Yoongi arches his back. A few vertebrae pop. "We're meeting him here?" He asks, looking around. He expected they would meet the infamous Jay someplace sleek and expensive. This is a cheap beach resort, not even as nice as some of the places they passed on the way up. 

"We're not meeting him," Jimin says. "He doesn't know we're coming. But yeah. Here." 

"What?" Yoongi must have misheard. "What do you mean he doesn't know we're coming?" 

Jimin frowns. "We haven't exactly kept in touch, okay? I got his address from a mutual friend. He really didn’t want to give it to me, but I told him it was an emergency." He sighs. 

"We came all the way out here and you don't even know if this guy is around?" Yoongi could have slept in. Days off are a precious commodity. 

Jimin gives Yoongi a flat look. "I told you that you didn't have to come," he says. 

Fair enough. Yoongi scowls. "Yeah well," he says. "I thought you knew what you were doing." 

"I do," Jimin says, annoyed. "Now come on, hyung." 

He seems tense and ill at ease. Yoongi wonders if maybe he didn't make a mistake in coming with Jimin. This Jay guy sounds like bad news. He can't picture a face, but he imagines a tall, hulking figure with a massive upper body and lots of gold jewelry. Someone slick and dangerous with no compunctions at all, ready to extract unreasonable promises from Jimin in exchange for his help. Some dark devil whose aid Jimin only unwillingly sought out. 

They climb the steps to one of the restaurants. It's nondescript, just one more hole in the wall in a line of them. The sign over the door welcomes patrons to 'Worldwide Delicious Cafeteria'. 

Not the kind of place that Yoongi would expect a master criminal to hang out, but okay. 

Even though the placard on the front door says they're not open for another half an hour, Jimin opens the door and steps in. Yoongi follows right behind. It's cozy inside, with paintings of seashore landscapes on the wall and low tables with colorful cushions. There's nobody here except one of the employees, a young handsome guy in a really ugly Hawaiian shirt. 

He looks up and politely says, “I'm sorry but we're not –" He pauses then and frowns, like he doesn't understand what he's seeing. 

Jimin takes off his sunglasses. "Hello hyung," he says, and he smiles the biggest smile that Yoongi has ever seen on his face. 

The handsome man behind the counter gapes, eyes growing wide. "Jimin? Park Jimin?" 

Jimin rolls his eyes. "Of course," he says. "Don't pretend like you don't recognize me."

The man behind the counter – this is the mysterious Jay? – crosses the restaurant in two strides and puts his hands on Jimin's shoulders. He gives him a once over. "Okay," he says. "Yup. Still my Jimin. Who told you to go and grow up though, kid?" 

He laughs and wraps Jimin in a huge hug. He's a tall man – taller than Yoongi and Jimin, anyway – and well-built, with wide shoulders and long legs. He's not exactly what Yoongi had been expecting, though -- decidedly more short order cook than gangster. 

"What are you doing here?" Jay says to the top of Jimin's head.

Jimin, whose face is pressed to Jay's chest, makes some inaudible muffled response. 

"No, wait," Jay says, turning to Yoongi. "Let me guess. The two of you are here on vacation and you heard that Worldwide Delicious serves the best seafood sundubujjigae north of Busan." 

Jimin extricates himself from his friend's embrace. His hair is ruffled and his cheeks are red and for just a moment he looks very young. But then he straightens his shirt and fixes his hair and shakes his head. "That's not it," he says. "Hyung, I have a favor to ask you." 

Jay's face falls and he sighs enormously. "I figured," he says, "but you can't blame me for hoping Worldwide Delicious's reputation has spread that far." He frowns at Jimin sadly. "Why don't you and your friend sit down and have some lunch? I'll close up after the rush is over and then we can go somewhere and talk." 

Jimin starts. "Oh yeah, hyung, this is Yoongi." He gestures to Yoongi, who nods and gives what he hopes is a bland and inoffensive smile. "Yoongi, this is Seokjin hyung." 

It's such an ordinary name that Yoongi is almost taken aback. 

"Nice to meet you," Seokjin says, beaming and offering Yoongi a hand. "A friend of Jimin's is always a friend of mine." 

They take a seat near one of the windows looking out across the beach to the wide grey ocean. Seokjin brings them bowls of his famous seafood soondubujjigae, which is pretty damn good. The tofu is so soft it nearly melts, and the seafood is exceedingly fresh. The lunch rush, such as it is, consists of a few locals who chat with Seokjin while they eat and a lone pair of tourists, who linger at the doorway until Seokjin spots them and ushers them inside with a loud and eager welcome. 

Yoongi is tired and a little out of sorts, even though he can't quite say why. Jimin seems distracted. Any time there's a lull in the conversation his eyes find Seokjin, who holds forth boisterously from behind the counter. 

"Been a while since you've seen him, huh?" Yoongi asks. 

Jimin nods. "He left Seoul in kind of a hurry. He was involved in some –- well, anyway, it was better if I didn't know where he ended up." He sips his tea and his eyes go soft. "He was my best friend, though. My only friend." 

From the way Jimin looks at Seokjin, Yoongi wouldn't be surprised if it had been more than that. Not that it's any of his business. 

"Seems like he's doing well here," Yoongi says, nodding at the full dining room. 

Jimin shrugs. "He always liked to cook," he says. "It makes sense he'd do well with a restaurant." 

Yoongi frowns. "You really think this guy can fool Seo?" 

Jimin nods adamantly. "Seokjin hyung is the best. The very best." 

The crowds die down by two. Yoongi and Jimin help Seokjin clean up, wiping down tables and sweeping up. 

"There's normally a kid who helps me," Seokjin says. "But it's so slow this time of year I let him have the day off." 

After things are tidy they follow Seokjin outside. He takes a ring of keys from his pocket and locks the front door. 

"Let's go to my place," he says. They walk south a few blocks and then a few blocks inland to a tiny apartment on the third story of a cute but shabby house. The apartment isn’t anything special, but it gets good light and there is a view of the ocean, sparkling and shimmering beyond the houses and the white stripe of the beach. The living room is tidy, with cheerful light blue walls and a large comfy couch. 

Seokjin asks them to make themselves at home and then excuses himself to take a quick shower and wash off the stink of the restaurant. Jimin and Yoongi sit and play with Seokjin’s dog while they wait – he’s a little white mutt that seems to want nothing more than to chew Jimin’s leather loafers to pieces. The noise of the shower is loud. Seokjin has a collection of vinyl toys displayed neatly on a few shelves. Namjoon likes that stuff, and Yoongi collected them halfheartedly himself for a while. Seokjin’s got a few rare pieces, things Namjoon would love to get his hands on. There’s also a guitar case leaning in one corner. Yoongi wonders if Seokjin plays. 

Seokjin emerges from the bathroom in sweatpants and a tee shirt, toweling his hair dry. He drapes the towel around his neck and looks at Jimin, frowning. 

"Jimin-ah," he says, sounding disappointed. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going back home, kid. I thought you were done with all that bad news." 

"Hyung, did you really think I could just walk away?" Jimin sighs. "It doesn't matter now. Yoongi and I need your help, hyung. I'm – Yoongi and I – we're trying to bring down Seo Junho.” 

Seokjin's eyes widen. "Seo Junho? What are you doing mixed up with him?” 

Jimin sighs. “I was running this con down in Ulsan with Kwak Youngwon – remember him?” 

Seokjin nods, but it doesn’t look like his remembrances of Manager Kwak are especially fond. 

“It was just a small-scale thing, but Seo offered us an opportunity to expand the con, and Kawk wanted to go for it. I agreed because the money was too good to pass up, but it was a mistake, hyung.” He hangs his head.

Seokjin frowns. "Jimin, you know I got out of that line of work." He shakes his head. "I can't go traipsing off to Seoul. Who would watch the restaurant? Who would watch Jjanggu?" 

Jimin says earnestly, "I know, hyung. I know you got out, and I wouldn't ask you except this is big. We have a chance to bring these assholes down for good, and I can't do it on my own. At least hear me out.” 

Seokjin's face goes somber again. "Okay," he says. He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. "Sell me on this idea of yours then, Jiminnie.” 

Quietly and intently, as though he’s practiced this, Jimin starts talking. He tells the whole story — not just the story of Golden Calf but all of it, from way back, Yoongi guesses, right after Seokjin left Seoul. Jimin runs through a litany of minor crimes and petty cons, names and places Yoongi doesn’t know. Actions Yoongi should condemn as an officer of the law. 

It worries Yoongi a little to realize he doesn’t much care.

Seokjin is not doing a very good job of hiding his feelings on his face. For someone who was supposedly some kind of criminal mastermind, he doesn’t seem to approve of Jimin’s exploits. He keeps his mouth shut though, and listens. 

Yoongi has heard some of this story before, but not in such detail. Jimin did go to Busan, but not to see his parents. From what he says, he’d spent long lazy afternoons in shopping malls, picking pockets, when he came across an entertainment company audition and came up with the audition deposit scheme. He got Kwak Youngwon involved, and they pulled off several successful rounds of auditions in Busan before the authorities started to catch on and they hightailed it to Ulsan. 

Wash rinse repeat. 

Seokjin’s expression is troubled. 

Jimin does not sound proud.

Soon Jimin moves onto more familiar terrain. Kwak gets taken in by Seo, who has bigger plans than just conning some kids out of pocket change. Jimin’s doubts grow as they start to prepare to debut a group. Seo has more money to throw into this project than he should. They discover the other company and the payments to Auroch Imports Ltd. Their reconnaissance at the warehouse reveals this to be an even bigger scam than he realized. The company is just a cover, and Seo is mixed up in some really bad shit. 

“Please hyung,” Jimin says, finally. “I know you got out. I know you don’t have any reason to get back into this again, but Seo is a monster. I know it was my idea in the beginning, but I want to make sure he can’t do this again.”

He bows his head and is quiet.

Seokjin looks thoughtful but doesn’t say anything at first. After a few moments, he asks, “Are you sure that’s why you’re doing this, Jimin-ah?” 

“Yes, hyung,” Jimin says quietly. “I know I should have listened to you. I didn’t, though, and I want to try to make it right now. As right as I can.”

“And who is Yoongi here?” 

Yoongi starts at the sound of his name. 

Jimin swallows. “He’s uh... He’s one of the trainees at the company, hyung.” 

Seokjin gives Yoongi a narrow look. “No offense,” he says. “But you don’t quite have the look of an idol trainee, Yoongi-ssi. You’re a little old, aren’t you?” 

Yoongi frowns. “Not older than you,” he says roughly. “I’m not a fucking trainee. I’m — Jimin, come on. It doesn’t even make sense that you’d bring along a random trainee from the company.” He sighs. “I’m a cop. Jimin here ripped off the kid of some government bigwig. They demanded an investigation and it got dropped in the lap of my boss, who made me go undercover because he’s an asshole who hates me.” 

Seokjin snorts. “Now a fake idol trainee, that I can see. No offense.”

“None taken,” Yoongi grumbles. 

“And you decided to help Jimin here out of the kindness of your heart?” Seokjin asks. 

Yoongi frowns. “He figured out I was undercover, and we decided it was in our best interests to work together.” 

Seokjin shakes his head. “Park Jimin, what am I going to do with you?” 

Jimin frowns, looking sincerely unhappy. 

“Isn’t the first rule not to get in over your head?” 

Jimin nods. 

Seokjin sighs. “I need to get back to the restaurant. Do you two need to get back to Seoul?” 

Jimin says quietly, “Not until tomorrow.” 

“Why don’t you and Yoongi-ssi go down and take a look at the beach? It really is a beautiful view. If you can hang around a while longer, I’ll make you dinner.” He smiles kindly. 

Jimin seems on the verge of saying something but then sighs and nods. “Okay, hyung. Thanks. We’ll meet you at the restaurant in a few hours.” 

He stands up, and Yoongi takes that as his cue to do the same. He waits until they’re down the stairs and a block away to turn to Jimin and ask, “What the fuck? That’s Jay?” 

Jimin shrugs. “Yeah,” he says. “Why? Not what you were expecting?” 

Yoongi shrugs. “Not really, no. Do you think he’ll help us?” 

Jimin sighs. “I hope so.” 

Yoongi hopes so too, but there’s no point in saying that. 

They walk down to the beach to take in some of those magnificent views that Seokjin seems so proud of. Truthfully, it is very beautiful. Wide white beaches skirt the hills. In the summer, the water probably sparkles in the bright sun. Today, it’s -2 C and a cold wind is blowing off the ocean. 

Yoongi sticks his hands in his pockets. They walk down the boardwalk, about a mile. Most of the restaurants and stores are shuttered. Closed for the winter, the cheerful but stern signs say. Seokjin seems to be one of the few trying to make a go of it in the off season. Jimin decides he wants to walk on the beach, so he takes off his shoes and goes down to the water. Yoongi’s toes shrivel at the very thought, so he stays behind on the boardwalk. He plants his ass on a bench and watches Jimin head down towards the breaking surf. The ocean is grey and unsettled, and Jimin looks small and lonely, a black ink blot against the white sand and pale sea. 

Yoongi is looking at his phone when Jimin comes back and drops down beside him. His nose is all red, and his cheeks.

“Jesus,” Yoongi says. “You look like you’re frozen.” 

Jimin shrugs. “Kinda,” he says, fumbling with cold fingers to lace his shoes back up. “It was nice though. Makes me think of a being a kid. My dad and brother and I always used to go to the beach on New Year’s Day.” 

Yoongi nods. That sounds like a nice tradition. He wishes he could remember any of the things he used to do with his old man without immediately feeling sick. “Didn’t know you had a brother,” he says instead. 

Jimin nods. “Two years younger than me. I haven’t seen him in a long time.” He finally gets his shoe laced up and then sticks his hands in his armpits to warm them. “I hope he’s okay.” 

“I’m sure he is,” Yoongi says. “Why wouldn’t he be?” 

“Bad things happen all the time,” Jimin says, darkly. 

Yeah. Well. Yoongi can’t argue with that. Jimin seems absorbed in some internal meditation, and Yoongi figures this is as good as time as any to ask a question that’s been on his mind since they left Seokjin’s apartment. 

“What happened between you and Seokjin?” 

Jimin looks up at him. That long, unruly forelock falls across his face, and as ever Yoongi has the urge to brush it way. 

“What? Nothing happened,” he says.

“How come he seemed so surprised that you were still in the business?”

Jimin shakes his head. “When things went bad with his last job, he had to get out really quickly. I knew he’d been doing some bigger jobs without me, but I didn’t realize how... Anyway, he got on the wrong side of a very powerful man, and it would have been very difficult for him to remain in Seoul. He’d been talking about leaving and opening a restaurant for years, and I guess the time was just right. He came to me the night before he left and told me to get out too. Told me to go home, back to Busan, or anywhere. To get out of this business and follow my dreams.” He snorts as if he can barely believe such naivety. 

“And?” Yoongi prompts. 

“I told him I would think about going home.” Jimin’s voice is barely above a whisper. He huffs.

Yoongi wants to do something — take his hand or put an arm around his shoulder — but it’s cold and he feels weird. They’re not friends, exactly, are they? He doesn’t know. 

“And?”

Jimin shrugs. “I went back to Busan. I couldn’t bring myself to go see my parents, though, and in the end, I couldn’t stay away. This is the only way of life I know. I don’t have any dreams left.”

Yoongi doesn’t have any consoling words to offer. He understands.

They head back to the restaurant. Jimin is silent and strangely shy. Seokjin waves as they come in and directs them to a table in the back of the house, close enough so they can hold a loud if halting conversation with him behind the counter. 

Food arrives on the table without them having ordered: seafood stew and braised fish and an array of side dishes. Yoongi's not really hungry but it seems rude not to eat. The food is spicy and steaming, and it brings some feeling of life back into him. Jimin picks at his meal. A bottle of soju and two glasses appear at the table. Jimin seems disinterested so Yoongi pours, and Jimin reaches for his glass eagerly. He looks tired, and there are strange lines of strain on his face. 

The dinner rush, such as it is, ends. Seokjin cleans up. Yoongi and Jimin drink their way slowly but steadily down to the bottom of the first bottle of soju, and then most of the way through a second, and then a third. Yoongi feels tired and drunk. It's so absurd, honestly. He should be at home right now. He should have wrapped this all up months ago. He could go to Superintendent Shim tomorrow and present his findings and be done with all of this. He's so tired, and his heart feels pulled in so many strange directions, and part of him just wants to go back to the comfortable drudgery of his normal life. He can retreat behind the lie that he's doing a great thing – serving his country! Who would argue that? 

Jimin, across the table, hiccups. His cheeks are red and there's a soft look in his eyes. 

Goddamn it. Yoongi won't go to Shim tomorrow, and he knows why. 

"Hyung," Jimin says, slow and lazy.

"What, Jimin?" Yoongi asks, more sharply than he means, maybe. 

The corners of Jimin's mouth turn down. "Just... thanks," he says. 

Weird warm feeling swells in Yoongi's chest. 

"Eh," he says softly. "It's nothing." 

Jimin shakes his head. "No," he says. "It's not.” He closes his eyes. He's got long eyelashes. "I couldn't do this on my own. I thought I could, but I've never been able to handle things on my own. Need your help. Need Jin hyung's help. I even needed Kwak Youngwon." 

He rests his head on the table, soft cheek smooshing flat, hair falling in front of his face. 

"It was your idea, though," Yoongi says.

"Yeah," Jimin says, sadly, softly. "But..." 

"Jimin!" Seokjin says, dropping into the seat next to Jimin. He puts his hands on Jimin's shoulders and squeezes. 

Jimin turns to him, blinking. 

"Jimin-ah," Seokjin admonishes. "What happened? Didn't hyung teach you how to drink better than this?" 

Jimin sits up, brushes off Seokjin's hand. He's not angry though. He's smiling, and there is a fondness in his smile that makes Yoongi's heart clench. 

"I'm fine," Jimin says, smiling. "I'm not a light weight." 

"I don't know," Seokjin says. "Your cheeks are all red." He turns to Yoongi. "Is he still an affectionate drunk, Yoongi-ssi?" 

Yoongi blanches. "Uh," he says. "Yeah. I mean..." 

"Hyung," Jimin says, interrupting him. "Seokjin hyung, what do you think?" Jimin's voice is high and plaintive. "Will you help me?" 

Yoongi's throat is tight and his head is spinning. "Us," he says. "Will you help us?" 

Seokjin looks back and forth between them, a strange smile on his face. He's amused, but Yoongi doesn't know what’s so funny. Smug asshole. Good thing he's Jimin's friend. 

"Yeah," he says. "I'll do it." He shakes his head, just slightly, as if dismissing some regret or misgiving. Then he squares his shoulders and says in a more ebullient voice, "Let's have another drink to cement our new partnership." 

He gets up to get another bottle of soju from the cooler.

Yoongi's head is swimming and he's exhausted. Jimin is in no state to drive back to Seoul. Seokjin returns to the table with another bottle and another glass, and Yoongi almost turns away the offer of a refill, but Jimin's eyes are shining and he looks glad and that excitement is infectious. Yoongi feels it too, a little. 

"To luck," Jimin says, holding his glass up for a toast. A little of the soju sloshes over the rim, runs wet down his slim wrist. 

Seokjin raises his glass. "To planning," he says. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes. These dramatic assholes. He raises his own glass. "To getting the fucking job done," he says. 

Seokjin and Jimin laugh. 

"I can drink to that," Seokjin says. "Cheers!" 

Yoongi closes his eyes and downs his shot, savoring the burn. 

***** 

Sour mouth and pounding head. 

Yoongi feels like shit. 

He is sleeping on some hard surface, covered with a thin blanket. 

"Hyung." 

Soft voice. Someone shaking his shoulder. 

"Hyung." 

"Ughhh," Yoongi says, struggling to open his eyes. "Jimin?" 

Jimin is leaning over him, ghostly in the darkness. 

They are in Seokjin's apartment. Yoongi remembers, very vaguely, stumbling back here last night, after more than just one celebratory round. They'd done more toasts, growing more ridiculous as they went along: To fame and wealth and happiness! To Island Boys! To Worldwide Delicious! To seafood stew! He remembers Seokjin singing, in a loud and slightly nasal but surprisingly steady voice, some ballad. He remembers Jimin joining in, sweet and high. He remembers wrapping his arm around Jimin, pulling him tight, and he remembers the way that Jimin's hand had rested on his waist, comfortable. Close. 

Fuck. 

"Hyung, we need to go," Jimin says. He has dark circles under his eyes. He doesn't look good. 

"What's wrong?" Yoongi scrubs his hand over his face. "What time is it?" 

"Four," Jimin says. "Nothing's wrong." He seems way too alert for four fucking o'clock in the morning. "We need to get back to Seoul. Practice at nine, remember?" 

Oh fucking god. "Can't we just skip?" 

Jimin stares at him sternly. 

"Fuck," Yoongi says, burying his head under the pillow. 

It is a feeble defense. He can feel Jimin staring at him through the pillow.

He groans and rolls over onto his back. 

"Come on," Jimin whispers. "Get up."

He is soft and close and Yoongi's head is throbbing, and almost like he's animated by something entirely outside of his body he reaches forward and brings one hand to Jimin's cheek. 

Prelude to a kiss. 

Jimin freezes. 

"What?" he asks, eyes enormous. 

Yoongi comes back to himself in a rush. He snatches his hand away. "Uh," he says. "You had an eyelash." 

"Oh," Jimin says, smiling. "Good luck. Make a wish, hyung." 

Yoongi closes his eyes and wishes he could take back the last three minutes of his life. 

It doesn't come true. 

Jimin is still watching him. "Well?" he asks. 

"I can't tell you the wish," Yoongi mutters. "It won't come true then." 

"Oh," Jimin says, settling back on his heels. "Right." He purses his lips. "Well, come on, hyung. We better get going or we're going to hit traffic." 

Yoongi somehow manages to get himself upright. He didn't bring much with him, so all he has to do is track down one sock that's somehow gone and hidden under the sofa. He ties his shoes with thick fingers and sits dumbly on the doorstep while Jimin leaves a note for Seokjin. 

"I don't want to wake him up," Jimin says softly. "I'll call him later. I got his number last night." 

They stumble out into the cold morning. Yoongi exhales, and his breath rises up in a sheet of mist. The sky is dark here, embedded with white and brilliant stars. He shoves his hands in his pockets and follows along a half a step behind Jimin. 

"You think he was serious about wanting to help us?" he asks, after a few blocks. 

Jimin nods. "Yeah," he says. "I mean, I was pretty sure he would but... Yeah. He'll do everything he can. Seokjin hyung is a really good person." 

Yoongi nods. That's good, he guesses. He's still not sure if this crazy fucking idea is going to work, but if Seokjin had said no they'd be back to the drawing board. At least this is something. 

Of course, he can be done with this any time he wants. He can go to Shim and... 

No. He's promised Jimin time. He doesn't set much store by honor but he's not going to go back on his word.

Another few blocks. Quiet early morning. No cars are on the streets. They disturb a stray cat huddling under a car. She hisses and then takes off over a fence.

"So," Yoongi says. "Were you and Seokjin a thing?" 

Jimin stops and turns to stare at him. "No," he says, frowning. "Why would you think that?" 

Fuck. Goddamnit. Yoongi shrugs. He's glad it's dark. "Just. I don't know. You seemed really close to him." 

Jimin narrows his eyes. "He’s like my brother." He turns and keeps walking. Head down. Shoulders set. "I had a crush on him," he says quietly. "I was such an idiot. Dumb moron kid fresh up from Busan. Everything was so overwhelming. Seokjin was the first person who treated me like I was worth a damn. Of course I had a crush on him." He sounds younger, and very sad. Some quiet sorrow spilling out. Something Yoongi doesn't need to hear but is. 

Jimin makes a harsh noise in his throat. "He took care of me," he says. "I didn't know anything. He took care of me and taught me what he knew. He let me tag along on smaller jobs. I thought..." He shakes his head. "He was so nice to me. After a while I thought that maybe he felt the same way about me, maybe it wasn't all in my head. I got drunk one night, and I confessed." 

Footsteps on gravel. They're near the main road now, but the little beach town is deserted on this silent winter morning. The only other sound is the crashing of the surf, a few hundred meters away across the road. 

"And?" Yoongi asks. 

Jimin shakes his head. "I've never been more embarrassed in my life," he whispers, harsh. "He's not... He’s straight, hyung. He doesn't like men. He loves me like a little brother, he said.”

His words have the practiced cadence of a mantra: some well-worn and oft repeated phrase meant to guard Jimin's heart. It's not me. It's not me. It's not my fault. 

"Ah," Yoongi says. 

"Yeah," Jimin says. "We never talked about it after that night. He left not too long afterward. It doesn't matter." 

His voice is hard and set, and Yoongi thinks how cold he'd seemed that first day in that damn warehouse. Cold and aloof and confident. It's a good act, but he wonders how easily Jimin wears it. He wonders how tender is the heart that it hides.

They don't say anything until they're back at the car. Yoongi has some idea of offering to drive but Jimin gets into the driver seat before he has the chance. He drops into the passenger seat and shuts the door. Jimin turns the engine on and doesn't wait for it to warm up before he pulls out onto the street. 

Yoongi doesn't know why he asked. He should say something. He should say ... what? He doesn't know. He's not good at this, and he hates the fact that he cares. If things were different, maybe… but they aren't. They've forged this uneasy partnership, but it's a tenuous thing. They haven't talked about the future, but Yoongi knows this won't last past the end of his investigation. It can't. It would be a dereliction of his duty, a forsaking of that pledge he made to uphold the rule of law. 

Still. He should say something. He should. He should ...

He falls asleep before he can think of _what_ he should say, and when he wakes they are in Seoul and the moment is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a really bad week, buddies. A comment if you're enjoying this would go a long way. Did you see Jin coming?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: One scene in this chapter describes an employee of the entertainment company being physically abusive to one of the trainees. This is quickly interrupted and, I think, on par with publicly known instances of such violence, but if you'd rather skip this scene it starts at "The mood in the practice room is weird." You can skip that scene entirely, or, to catch a few important plot points, jump down to "Nobody moves. Finally, Jimin sighs."

Just a few days later, after practice, Yoongi and Jimin meet at City Hall Station and take the train south across the river. They get off at a stop Yoongi isn't familiar with, in a leafy, well-heeled neighborhood near Seoul National University. The sidewalks are full of parents pushing strollers and couples walking dogs. Cozy coffee shops and little boutiques line the street. It's not the kind of place you'd expect some evil computer genius to be hiding out, but what does Yoongi know? 

Jimin’s friend’s apartment is on the top floor of a very nice building with a glossy lobby and a doorman. The doorman seems to know Jimin, because he smiles and tips his hat and Jimin pauses for a moment to ask after his health. The elevator is sleek and modern. This place is _nice_. Nicer than Yoongi's building. Nicer even than Jimin’s. Way nicer than any place Yoongi could think of living. 

They get off on the top floor and walk down the hall towards the lone door up here, which he opens before Jimin even has a chance to knock. A man with hair dyed a rainbow of pastel colors stands in the doorway. He’s wearing an expensive looking black sweater covered in little puffy tufts of rainbow colors that are just a bit more saturated than his hair.

This, apparently, is Jimin’s genius friend.

"Jimin!" he says, beaming, throwing his arms around Jimin.

Jimin grins and hugs him back. "What's up, Taehyung? Your hair looks nice." 

Taehyung grins. "Thanks," he says, ruffling it in a self-conscious way. “Just got it done.” 

"This is Yoongi," Jimin says, smiling. "He's been working with me." 

The introductions are brief and incomplete. Nobody asks more. There's some kind of implicit understanding that last names and ages reveal a bit too much.

"Nice to meet you," Yoongi says, shaking Taehyung's hand. 

Taehyung shows them into the living room, which is dominated by a navy velvet couch covered with an almost improbably number of throw pillows. The floor-to-ceiling windows reveal magnificent views. Jimin sits gingerly down at one end of the coach and Taehyung at the other, and Yoongi takes the armchair. For a computer whiz, Yoongi thinks, there's a decided lack of tech visible: a big TV hangs on the wall, and he seems some discrete but expensive speakers, but there's no thick vines of wires, no steaming stacks of CPUs, no mosaic of monitors. Maybe he misunderstood what this Taehyung guy is supposed to do.

"So," Jimin says, crossing one leg over the other. "You got my message." 

Taehyung laughs. "Yeah, what the hell were you talking about? Virtual idols?" 

Jimin narrows his eyes. “You know that’s not what I really want you to do, Taehyung.” 

Taehyung groans, throwing his head back. “Jimin, can’t you ask Moonbok or something? 

“No,” Jimin says. “You’re the best, Taehyung. I want you to do it.” 

Yoongi looks from one to the other. He doesn’t have a fucking clue what they’re talking about, but Taehyung is obviously displeased about whatever it is.

Taehyung's mouth spreads wide, an expression of reluctance. "I'm really not doing that kind of work much anymore, Jimin. I’ve got some legitimate gigs now that pay pretty well and –" 

"Seokjin hyung is going to help us too," Jimin interrupts. 

Taehyung's eyes light up. "What? Really?" 

Jimin nods. "Yoongi and I went to see him last week. I know he's retired but we convinced him.” He smiles. “You know Seokjin hyung can never resist a challenge." 

Taehyung grins. "And he'd do anything for you, Jiminnie." 

Jimin frowns a little at that – just a slight downturn at the corners of his mouth that passes in a moment. "He's going to help us," he says. "That's what matters. But we need your help too, Taehyunggie. I want to bring Seo Junho to his knees, and that means cleaning him out. I want every last won.” 

Taehyung sighs mightily. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

“Seokjin hyung is going to pose as the CEO of a company producing Korea’s first all virtual idol group. You’ll need do the art," Jimin says calmly. "We don't need much. Just some concept sketches, maybe a short video. You're so good, I'm sure it won't be a big deal for you at all. And we need a program. Something you install so you can set up a profile and chat with the idols. We’ll have Seokjin hyung give him a disk with the beta version. Is that right?” Jimin sounds uncharacteristically out of his depth. 

Taehyung nods, looking amused. “Sure thing,” he says generously. “I don’t know about a disk, but we could give him a promotional USB with the download link or something.” 

“And if he installs this software, you can get into his machine?” 

Taehyung nods. 

“You can get his passwords? Account information? All of it?” Jimin leans forward, elbows on his knees. 

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Jimin-ah, I’m the best out there, aren’t I?” 

Jimin grins. “You are.” 

Taehyung sits back with his hands behind his head. “If Seokjin hyung is good enough to convince him to install the thing, I’ll be able to see every site he visits. Every word he types.” 

Yoongi, feeling exceptionally dim, frowns. “Wait,” he says, turning to Jimin. “This was your plan all along? To fucking hack into his computer? What happened to the virtual idols?” 

Jimin lifts an eyebrow. “Seo is stupid, but do you really think he’d be stupid enough to invest in _a virtual idol group_? We just need Seokjin hyung to tempt him enough for him to install Taehyung’s program, and then we’ve got him.” 

Yoongi scowls. “You could have mentioned that up front,” he mutters, throwing himself against the back of the chair and crossing his arms over his chest. Fucking Jimin. As soon as Yoongi thinks they’re on the same page, something like this happens and he realizes Jimin is still holding all of his cards close to his fucking chest. He has a sour, unhappy taste in his mouth. 

Jimin’s haughty expression softens. “I’m sorry, hyung,” he says quietly. “I should have explained in more detail.” 

Yoongi exhales. “Yeah,” he says. “Well I’m not the criminal mastermind, now am I?” He’s annoyed still, but the apology is an unexpected salve. 

“This is going be a lot of work, Jimin,” Taehyung says slowly, looking a little less enthused now. “I have some illustration work I'm contracted to do by the end of the month and..." 

"We'll cut you in," Jimin says. "Fifteen percent of whatever we get." 

Taehyung's eyes go hard. "What if you don't get anything?" 

"I'll pay you myself then," Jimin says. "A hundred million won." 

Jesus. Does Jimin have that kind of money to be throwing around? Yoongi knows he’s well off – what with the fancy car and the nice apartment and the expensive clothes – but it’s still a little jarring to hear him casually commit more money than Yoongi makes in a year. 

Taehyung rolls his eyes. "Fine," he says. "Shake on it." 

He and Jimin shake hands, staring intently at each other and not breaking the handshake until a few moments too long have passed.

"Ah," Taehyung says, shaking his head. "You're such a bad influence, Jimin." 

Jimin smiles. "No, I'm not," he says. "This is a great deal for you no matter what happens." 

"So... virtual idols. What exactly are you thinking?" 

Taehyung gets out a pad of paper and starts sketching and taking notes. They spend a little while talking about the concept. Jimin has awful lot of opinions, considering this whole thing is just a fucking ruse. They don't want anything too off the wall, he says – no Island Boys, for example. They want something generic and popular, a full suite of trendy types: the pretty visual and the handsome singer and the charismatic rapper and the talented dancer. Yoongi keeps his mouth shut. Earlier protests aside, he doesn’t really care about the details of this goddamn stupid plan. He just wants it to work. 

Sitting back, Taehyung stretches his arms over his head. "I think this might work," he says happily. "The illustrations are nothing. I can throw together some quick digital renders. The app is going to take more work though. Oh." 

"What?" Jimin looks up from his scrutiny of Taehyung's sketches. 

"If you want me to do a video, we’re going to need a song. Who are you going to get to compose?" 

Jimin frowns. "I thought you might be able to come up with something.”

Taehyung shakes his head. "Jimin, I can't compose you an idol song. It has to be really good, right? You don't want the world's first saxophone only idol song, do you?" 

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut. He's going to regret this but Namjoon _does_ owe him a favor. "I think I know someone who can help us." 

*****

“Shit,” Yoongi mutters under his breath. His heart is racing, and his stomach is sour. 

Another week, another meeting with Superintendent Shim. Yoongi’s running out of ways to convince Shim to let him keep the investigation going. His excuses are flimsy. He came up with something today – still waiting on a request for Seo’s records from the National Tax Service – but he’s running out of time. 

Maybe next week he just won’t show up.

Minjoon, sitting at his desk outside of Shim's office, sighs. "It didn't go well, huh, hyung?" 

"Not exactly," Yoongi mutters. 

"Fighting, Officer Min!" Minjoon says, raising a hand in salute. 

Yoongi nods. He appreciates the gesture but he's going to need a whole lot more than just a 'fighting'. 

He speeds through the office. Everyone knows that a meeting in Shim's office means you got reamed out, and he's not in the mood for any more commiseration. It's a relief to finally step outside into the blustery evening. He shoves his hands in his pockets and takes the steps two at a time. It's five o'clock and he's been up since seven practicing, but he's not done for the day yet.

He and Jimin are going to meet Namjoon at his studio. Yoongi called him last night to ask if he'd be willing to help out on a 'special project'. Namjoon had been intrigued, and his curiosity had only grown when Yoongi had said that he couldn't say more over the phone. 

"What's up, hyung?" he'd said, laughing. "Are you going to drop a mix tape before you debut? Trying to get expectations up?" 

It hadn't been a very funny joke, but Yoongi had laughed anyway, almost to the point of tears. 

The stress is making him hysterical. 

His stomach rumbles sadly. There's a chicken place on the corner and he can smell the wonderful aroma of fried greasy food wafting out. He glances down at his phone. He's got an hour and a half before they're supposed to meet Namjoon. 

He messages Jimin

 _Want to meet for some food? We can plan our attack strategy. Namjoon is going to take a lot of convincing_

Jimin replies right away. 

_Sure. Where?_

_Chicken Baengi. I'll send you the address. Want me to order?_

_K. Get a combo. See you soon_

Yoongi feels some warm, unwelcome emotion flood his chest. He knows it doesn’t mean anything, really, but it feels _good_ that he and Jimin are on the same team. Partners. Friends.

Even if it might not be anything more than a pretty piece of self-delusion. 

Get a grip, Min Yoongi. He snorts. Not likely, not now. He’s spent so long deceiving himself – what’s one more little lie? 

He shakes himself to dispel the feeling and steps into warm, damp shop.

*****

The mood in the practice room is weird. Kwak has taken to coming and watching them, standing in the corner with his arms folded, leaning back against the wall, wrinkling those expensive, showy suits he wears.

The room echoes with the slightly off-key chorus of Heave Ho! and the desperate breathing of the trainees. Yoongi concentrates on his footwork and shifts smoothly to the left side of the room as they transition to the bridge. Byungchul, to Yoongi's right, nearly trips and falls. Wonjae is gasping and dripping sweat. Jungkook is the only one who isn't struggling. And Jimin, of course, but he doesn't really count. 

Final chorus. It's Hyungjoon’s time to shine. Even though Jungkook is the strongest vocalist, Hyungjoon has been given the prized vocal run. He steps forward and starts to sing, but his voice cracks halfway, ugly and jarring. 

Kwak grimaces. 

They fumble through the rest of the song. Yoongi's final pose is with legs spread and arms raised in a supposedly triumphant gesture. He thinks it looks really dumb. He breathes heavily as they hold the final formation for a moment. Kwak steps forward and tuts. 

They break formation. 

"What was that?" Kwak growls.

Jimin steps forward. "They haven't spent very long practicing the vocals while dancing," he says. "We're still..." 

"Shut up, Jimin," Kwak says. 

Jungkook glances at Yoongi askance. Kwak and Jimin are usually on the same page – team leader and manager, shepherding them towards a glorious debut. It's jarring – even for Yoongi, he realizes with a weird jolt – to see them at odds. 

"Hyungjoon,” Kwak says, beckoning him forward.

Reluctantly, Hyungjoon steps forward out of line. "Yes, sir," he says. 

"Do you think this is some kinda joke?" Kwak's face – rough cheeks pocked with old acne scars – wrinkles into a grimace. 

Hyungjoon shakes his head. "No, sir," he says. 

"It sounded like a joke to me," Kwak says. 

Jimin, standing at the front of the line of trainees, starts to speak, but Kwak interrupts. 

"Shut _up_ , Jimin," he says harshly. “Hyungjoon-ah, haven't you been practicing?" 

Hyungjoon, looking near tears, nods. "Yes, sir." 

"Doesn't sound like it to me," Kwak says. He steps forward and in one awful swift motion he grabs Hyungjoon by the arm and shakes him. "Is this some kind of fucking joke to you?" 

Hyungjoon cries out in shock and pain. Jimin, moving almost instantly, grabs Kwak by the wrist. Kwak, startled, glares at him. 

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Kwak asks. 

The whole room is silent. Every ragged gasp of breath is audible. The trainees are watching, horrified and rapt. Jimin does not reply. He squeezes Kwak's wrist. Kwak grits his teeth, straining, but Jimin is stronger than he looks and after a moment longer Kwak lets go of Hyungjoon, who falls back towards the other trainees as if propelled. His cheeks are red and his eyes are wet. Jungkook pulls him into a hug. Hyungjoon buries his face in Jungkook's neck and shakes, silencing his sobs.

Yoongi feels paralyzed. Frozen. Jimin's hand is still wrapped around Kwak's thick wrist. Kwak tries to shake him off, but Jimin does not let go. The ceiling fan spins desultorily overhead. The windows are fogged from the heat of their effort. 

In another rush of motion Kwak slugs Jimin, catching him on the right cheek with something halfway between a slap and a punch. Jimin gasps but makes no other noise and stumbles half a step back. He doesn't let go of Kwak's wrist even as blood rushes to flush his pale cheek. His left eye is red and watery, and his teeth are bared in a grimace of anger and pain. 

Fuck. Just as Yoongi is about to step forward and separate them by force, Jimin lets go of Kwak’s wrist and Kwak steps back away from him. 

With an expression of disgust and anger, Kwak growls, "Everything is riding on this debut," he says. "You better remember that. This isn't some joke, kids. I don't want any more fuck-ups, okay?" 

Nobody says a word. Kwak half-turns towards the back of the room, as if looking for support, but he does not find it. With six pairs of eyes on him, he backs slowly toward the door. He glares once more at Jimin, who is ghost pale except for his scarlet cheek. Jimin looks back, calm and imperturbable. 

Kwak makes some unintelligible frustrated noise and pulls the door open, slamming it behind him as he storms into the hall. 

Nobody moves. Finally, Jimin sighs.

"Sorry, everyone," he says, smiling not very convincingly. "Manager Kwak is under a lot of stress right now. He just wants Island Boys to be a big hit." 

Jungkook, eyes huge, asks, "Hyung, are you okay?" 

"Wow," Byungchul says, "He really socked you. That was awesome." 

Jimin closes his eyes quickly. "I'll be fine," he says. He breathes in and out through his nose. "Practice is over for today." 

More quickly than ever before, the trainees grab their things and flee down the stairs. Finally, only Jimin and Yoongi are left.

"Are you really okay?” Yoongi asks. “Do you need to go to the hospital or something?" 

Jimin touches his cheekbone, which is still scarlet and getting puffy. "I'm fine," he says. "I just need to ice it." 

He exhales again, slow and shaky. His eyes close and he hunches forward a little, as if bracing against the pain. 

"What the fuck was that about?" Yoongi asks. 

Jimin shrugs. "Kwak and Seo had a big blow out last night," he says. "Not sure about what. He's never been good at controlling his temper." 

Yoongi nods. He can feel the thrum of adrenaline and fear in his veins. "I'm sorry I didn't –" 

"It's fine," Jimin says, straightening up. "You couldn't have done anything. I'll talk to him tomorrow. Where’s Jungkook?” 

“Waiting downstairs,” Yoongi says. 

Jimin nods, and then walks over to the back of the room. Sitting on one of the shelves, next to the cheap stereo, is a cell phone. It’s not Jimin’s – he is still using the iPhone X that Yoongi gave him. Just some cheap old Samsung.

Jimin picks up this phone and stares at it for a moment. 

“What’s that?” Yoongi asks. 

Jimin looks up at him and smiles. “I’ve been recording.” 

“What? The practice sessions?” 

Jimin nods. “For a few weeks. Kwak actually gave me the idea. He was complaining that Island Boys aren’t going to have their own debut documentary like a _real group_.”

“Shit,” Yoongi says. “What are you going to do with the footage?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Jimin says. His voice is a little shaky. “I have some ideas, though.” He closes his eyes for a moment. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Yoongi asks. 

"I’m not going to die," Jimin says. "But..." He exhales. "Can you drive me back to my place? Jungkook can take the subway to yours, right? I just... I just need a minute. I'll buy you dinner." 

Fuck. He’s still so unwilling to ask for even this slightest of favors. "You don't need to buy me dinner," Yoongi scoffs. "I'll drive you back. We're partners, aren't we?" 

He holds a hand out to Jimin. 

Jimin stares at it a moment and then takes it. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I guess we are." 

***** 

It is a cold, dark Friday night. Outside, the sky is full of swirling snow, and the wind is noisy against the windows. Jimin and Yoongi got some food after practice, and then they'd come back to Jimin’s place. These dinners have become a new habit, still a little strange and unsure, and Yoongi enjoys them – looks forward to them every day, in fact – but he’s trying to remember that circumstances have merely thrown the two of them together for a time. 

(He doesn't know what Jimin does on the days they don’t get dinner together. Jimin doesn't volunteer and Yoongi would never ask.) 

Anyway. Enough with the philosophical bullshit. They'd gone to a bar and Yoongi had eaten a delicious medium rare burger with cheese and bacon and had a beer. When they'd gotten back to the apartment Jimin had showered and then let Yoongi shower. It had felt so good to stand in Jimin’s big tiled shower and let the spray wash away a little bit of his weariness. Jimin had lent him a pair of his soft, expensive flannel pajama pants and a tee shirt, and poured them both a drink, and Yoongi feels about as comfortable now as he has in weeks. 

"So, what's going on?" he asks. 

Jimin said he had news but didn’t want to talk about it until they were in private. He is sitting at the other end of the couch with his feet tucked neatly beneath him. At Yoongi’s words, he looks up, frowns, and looks back down at the drink in his hand. 

"Seokjin hyung is in town," he says. 

"What? Since when?" 

"Got into town yesterday," Jimin says. "I don't know where he's staying. He wouldn’t say. He's going to come over." 

"What?" Yoongi frowns. "Right Now?" 

Jimin nods. "Yeah," he says. "He’s on his way. We need to catch him up.” 

Yoongi nods. He wishes he'd had a little more notice. It's not like he cares, but he's wearing Jimin's spare pajamas. He'd like to cut a slightly more of a dashing figure. 

“We don't have much time,” Jimin continues. “Seo is getting anxious. I think Yellow Dragon is souring on him after our little adventure at the warehouse.” He smiles, pleased at their exploit. “He and Kwak’s big blow up was about money. I guess Kwak hasn’t been getting paid as regularly as he’d like.”

The doorbell rings then. Jimin jumps up and positions himself near the front door. He's nervous – Yoongi can see it now. Yoongi takes a sip of his drink. The elevator down the hall pings. Jimin is waiting when Seokjin knocks. 

"What happened to you, kiddo?" Seokjin asks as he steps through the front door of Jimin's apartment. He's wearing a nice leather jacket and black boots; the effect is a bit different than the Hawaiian shirt. He looks model-esque and extremely fashionable.

Yoongi tries to sink a little further into the couch cushions. 

Jimin raises a hand self-consciously to his cheek. The bruise is faded but still visible. "Did something stupid," he mutters. 

Seokjin pats him on the head like he's a puppy, and Jimin wrinkles his nose.

"Wow," Seokjin says, looking around. "This place is nice, Jimin. You're doing well for yourself, huh?" 

Jimin smiles, affectionate and warm. "I learned from the best, hyung." 

Seokjin laughs and sits down in the armchair across from Yoongi. 

"Yoongi-ssi, how are you?" 

His handsomeness is more aggressive than Yoongi remembered. "Good," he says. "Good. Uh. How are you?" 

Seokjin exhales loudly. "Not used to all this hustle and bustle! I forgot how many people there are everywhere." 

"Yeah," Yoongi says. "But you get used to it." 

"You did, huh?" Seokjin says, smiling blandly. 

"What?" Yoongi frowns. What the fuck is he getting at? 

"Oh," Seokjin says, puzzled. "Well, you're not from here, right? You've got just the littlest bit of an accent... Daegu, right?" 

Jimin comes in from the kitchen with a drink for Seokjin. "Ignore him," he says, reaching past Yoongi to hand Seokjin his glass. "He likes to show off." 

"Hey!" Seokjin squawks. "Who's showing off?" 

Jimin snorts. "Seokjin hyung had a really good ear," he explains to Yoongi. "He can do all kinds of voices. He knew I was from Busan the second we met.”

"Huh," Yoongi says. "I guess that's a pretty useful skill for a con artist.”

Seokjin laughs, leaning back in his chair. "Yoongi-ssi, try to leave your occupational prejudices behind! I'm a humble restaurateur." 

Yoongi snorts. 

"Cut it out, both of you," Jimin says. He sits down again next to Yoongi, tucking one foot under him. He's close enough that the tip of his toe almost brushes Yoongi's thigh. Almost. 

"Okay, kids," Seokjin says, smiling. He claps his hands together. "I said I'd never do it, but I'm back. What's the plan?" 

Jimin smiles. "I think you’re going to like it, hyung," he says, a bit shyly, as if he’s eager for but not certain of Seokjin’s approval. "You’re going to try to convince Seo to invest in a fake idol group.” 

"Fake?" Seokjin laughs. "Isn't he already investing in a fake idol group?"

"Not fake," Yoongi mutters. "Virtual. A virtual idol group. Jimin, show him the..." 

"Oh," Jimin says. "Yeah." He gets up, skirting past Yoongi, and gets his tablet from his bag. He fiddles with it for a moment and then sets it on the coffee table. A clip begins to play: The camera zooms in on a black field that resolves into a stage. Silhouetted figures gleam. The camera passes over each handsome face in turn, and then – 

Nothing. It's only a ten second sample. 

Seokjin laughs. "What's that?" 

"Taehyung made it. He's doing the design and programming and a friend of Yoongi’s is making the song." 

"Korea's first all virtual idol group," Yoongi says. "All of the passionate fangirls willing to open their wallets, none of the overhead." 

“Hmm,” Seokjin says, considering. “Taehyung is helping you?” 

Jimin nods. “You know I wouldn’t trust anyone else. Once Seo installs the program he’s making, Taehyung will have access to everything. That’s all you need to convince him to do.” 

Seokjin looks amused. "And you think Seo's going to go for this?" 

"You can convince him, hyung," Jimin says, sounding total certain in Seokjin’s abilities. "You're still the best out there, right?” 

"I sure hope so, Jimin-ah,” Seokjin says. He laughs, raucous and pleased, and drains his drink. "Okay. I'm in."


	13. Chapter 13

"Hey, hey," Jimin says, "Settle down." 

It's a few days before Christmas and in spite of the increasing urgency of their preparations the trainees are distracted. Christmas Day is a Friday this year, and Seo has given them Christmas Eve off too in a display of unexpected kindness. Jimin confessed to Yoongi that he thinks Seo just wants them all out of his hair for a while, but this fortuitous timing means they'll have a four-day break. Byungchul and Wonjae have been talking incessantly about the gifts they anticipate from their families and the lavish parties their parents throw. 

Yoongi doesn't give a fuck about Christmas, frankly, but he's glad for the time off, whatever the reason. 

"I know you're all excited," Jimin says, sounding peevish. "But we need to get this right. Remember, Director Seo said that if I don't think you're making enough progress I can keep you here over the holiday." 

There's a muted but audible chorus of groans. 

"I know," Jimin says, sympathetic but still stern. "So, let's just focus for a little while, kids, and then you can get your break." 

It amazes Yoongi how sincerely Jimin still plays the part of Island Boy's serious and responsible leader. Looking at him standing at the front of the room, sweaty but resolute, you'd never fucking guess that he was planning the systemic and complete downfall of Golden Calf Entertainment. 

He missed his calling. Should have been an actor. 

Yoongi had said that last night, when they were out at dinner with Seokjin talking about the next steps in their plan. Seokjin had laughed and patted Jimin on the head and said that, talent aside, he was too short to be an actor. Jimin had blushed and gotten more embarrassed than Yoongi has ever seen him. 

Yoongi likes to give Jimin shit about his height, but it’s not like he’s _that_ short. 

The whole meal had been like that – full of Seokjin's teasing and Jimin's happily embarrassed replies. Yoongi had been in a sullen mood and had too much to drink – since Jimin picked up the tab. It's not like he cares that Seokjin can make Jimin blush so easily. Not at all.

He’s paying for it today with a pounding head and a sour belly. 

"Yoongi-ssi!" Jimin calls. "Are you ready to join us?" 

Yoongi shakes himself out of his reverie. 

Jimin is standing with his hands on his hips, glaring, but he can't quite keep the smile off his face. 

Asshole. He's the one who suggested they go out last night. 

"Yeah," he mutters. "Sorry." 

The kids scramble into formation, and Yoongi finds his place among them. It's weird how normal this seems now. They've rehearsed this routine hundreds or maybe thousands of times. It's still not good: they're out of synch with each other and Byungchul and Wonjae will never be more than clumsy oafs, but it's not totally embarrassing any more. Everyone knows the basic steps at least. 

They run through the song a few more times. It's still awful, but Yoongi doesn't physically recoil when he hears it now. Yeah, the Heave Ho!s still make his toes curl, but whatever. He's gotten used to it, somehow. He can focus on other things while they practice: what he's going to get for dinner, whether Jungkook left his dirty clothes all over the floor again, the beautiful, stern expression on Jimin's face when he's focusing on… 

Yeah. You know. Whatever random shit floats through his mind. 

Finally, even Jimin has had enough and dismisses the class. As the kids pack up, their discussions return to their holiday plans. 

"Jungkook-ah, what are you doing?" Hyungjoon asks innocently enough.

Wonjae scoffs. "He's not doing anything. He doesn't live with his parents, you know?" 

Jungkook's face falls. "That's not true," he says. "I mean, it is true, but I'm going to go visit them for the holiday!" 

Yoongi frowns. He hasn't heard these plans before. 

The other kids don't really care though. They were just looking for an opportunity to take Jungkook down a notch. They all know he’s the most talented, and they quietly resent him for it. They've already moved on to talk of new watches and fancy cars, glamrous parties and luxurious hotel buffets. 

Jungkook sighs and gets out his broom. 

Yoongi goes over to help him. They might as well get this over with. 

"Didn't know you were going home," he says. 

Jungkook looks up at him with huge eyes. "I'm not," he mumbles. "I just didn't want to tell them that." 

Yoongi frowns. "Why don’t you go? Don't you want to see your folks?" 

Jungkook nods. "I do," he says, "But..." 

"Jungkook-ah," Jimin says, and for a moment Yoongi thinks Jimin is going to scold him for some stray piece of dust, but those days have passed. 

"Yes, hyung?" Jungkook says quietly. 

Jimin reaches in bag and pulls out his wallet. "Go visit your parents, okay?" he says, and he hands Jungkook a stack of 10,000 won notes.

"Hyung," Jungkook says, eyes even bigger. "I can't take this." 

"Jungkook," Jimin says. "Please. There's nothing in the world that would make me happier than you going home to see your parents." 

Jungkook frowns. "Nothing?" 

Jimin shakes his head. "Nothing," he says, sounding very certain. 

Jungkook reluctantly takes the money. "Okay," he says. 

"Go down to the bus station and reserve a ticket," Jimin says. "Yoongi hyung and I will finish up here and meet you at his place." 

Jungkooks face lights up. "Okay," he says, "If you're sure." He bites his lip. "Can we order jjajangmyeon for dinner?" 

Jimin smiles. "Sure," he says. "My treat." 

Jungkook struggles into his coat and boots. "Thank you so much, Jimin hyung. See you at home, Yoongi hyung!" 

He clatters down the stairs as loudly as all the rest of the kids combined. 

Damn. Yoongi would kill to have that much energy. 

"Didn't think you were such a softy," he says, glancing over at Jimin, who is putting his wallet away. 

Jimin shrugs. "Am I?" He looks distracted by something, or sad, or maybe just remembering something sad. "He should go see his parents." 

"What about you?" Yoongi asks. 

Jimin looks up. "What about me?" 

"Are you going to see your folks?"

Yoongi watches as Jimin's face goes hard and flat. "No," he says. "Of course I'm not.”

"What are you doing for Christmas, then?" Yoongi asks, not entirely unsubtle. "Doing something with Seokjin?" 

Jimin shakes his head. "No," he says. "I'm not doing anything. I don't celebrate." 

"Me neither," Yoongi says, nodding. 

Jimin finishes sweeping and puts the broom away in the closet. "You want a ride back to your place?" 

"Are you really buying dinner?" 

Jimin shrugs. "I promised Jungkook I would." 

"I guess so, then," Yoongi says. "Might as well give my poor old legs a rest." 

Jimin rolls his eyes. "I'm sure your poor old legs are fine," he says as he locks the studio door behind them. 

"I'm not as young as I used to be," Yoongi mutters as they step out into the blustery night. It is very dark and very cold, and Yoongi pulls his coat closer around him. They walk a few blocks away to where JImin's car is parked. It's not far to Yoongi's apartment, but he is glad for the ride.

"You want to call and order?" Jimin says. "We can stop and pick it up on the way." 

Yoongi calls the regular place and orders pepper jjajangmyeon, fried rice, and tang soo pork. He hangs up after the restaurant confirms his order and turns his phone over nervously in his hands. Jimin is staring straight ahead, drumming his fingers lightly against the steering wheel. He looks tired. The swelling has mostly faded from his cheekbone, but the faintest shadow of a bruise is still visible. 

"If you're not doing anything for Christmas we should hang out," Yoongi blurts out. 

They come to a red light just as Yoongi speaks. Jimin hits the brakes a little too hard and then looks over at Yoongi with wide eyes. "What?" 

Yoongi frowns. "Well," he says slowly, "I'm just saying. If you're not doing anything for Christmas we should do something. I've spent enough holidays sitting at home alone. It's fucking depressing." 

"Oh," Jimin says softly. "Sure. Yeah. I mean, we can do that." 

Yoongi nods. "Cool," he says, and then feels lame for saying it. His plan was half baked, and now he is at a loss. They're going to hang out and do – what, exactly?

"Have you ever been to the skating rink at the Grand Hyatt?" Jimin asks then, as traffic starts to move. 

Yoongi shakes his head. "I've never been ice skating in my life," he admits. 

Jimin laughs a little. "Me neither," he says, "but I've always wanted to go." 

Yoongi frowns. "Ice skating, huh?" 

Jimin shrugs. "It looks fun, don't you think?" 

Honestly Yoongi thinks it looks dangerous and extremely likely to result in bodily harm. "Yeah," he says. "Nice." 

Jimin's face relaxes into a smile. "Cool," he says. "It's a date." 

Yoongi can't think of a single thing to say to that. He rests his warm cheek against the cold window of the car and watches the lights twinkle outside. 

***** 

It's the day before Christmas Eve – last practice before the holiday – and the trainees are in higher spirits than ever before. Jungkook, who is going to leave right after practice to get his bus home, is nearly delirious. Yoongi had watched the night before as he'd packed and unpacked and repacked his duffle bag three times, carefully positioning the gifts he'd bought for his family – small but thoughtful things he bought with his carefully hoarded savings. He’s full of energy today, goofing around with Hyungjoon, spinning in place and then staggering dizzily.

"Okay," Jimin says from the front of the room. "Once more, and then you're all –" 

The door opens, interrupting his little speech. Manager Kwak steps in, followed closely by Director Seo.

The room goes silent. Without prompting, the trainees line up and stand quietly, hands behind their backs. 

Seo chuckles. "Looks like you did manage to teach them something, Jimin," he says. "I hardly thought it possible." 

"They've learned a lot, sir," Jimin says, tersely. "They've come a long way." 

"Good," Seo says. "Good." He turns to address the trainees. "Manager Kwak has also reported that you're all making great strides."

Jungkook smiles, and a few of the trainees stand a little easier. 

"I'm glad to hear you've started to make progress," Seo says, "Because I'm here today to tell you boys that your debut showcase is going to be January 30th of next year." 

There's a collective gasp. That's just a little more than a month away. 

No fucking way they'll be ready.

Not that it matters. Not that it ever mattered, Yoongi thinks. 

He meets Jimin's eyes.

All that it means is that now is the time to make their move.

*****

But first, the holiday. 

Yoongi wakes up on Christmas Eve and is disoriented. The world is strange and light. 

He closes his eyes and opens them again. Oh fuck. Right. He didn't have to set his alarm last night. It's the first time he's woken up after sunrise in months. 

It is snowing and Seoul is frosted white like a Christmas cake. Yoongi breathes in deeply and exhales, and then lets himself fall back into his bed. The apartment is quiet. Jungkook went home. He doesn't mind having the kid stay with him, but it's nice to be alone. 

It's nice to have a fucking minute to breath. To think. He closes his eyes. Everything is fucking moving so fast, and he still can't quite bring himself to think about what happens when it's all over. 

Four weeks. Four weeks until the showcase. 

Fuck. It doesn't seem like enough time. It doesn't seem like nearly enough time. 

He doesn't want to think about it. Can't think about it right now. He pulls the blankets up over his head and falls back to sleep. 

When he wakes up again it's mid-morning, and the snow has stopped. It's cold in the apartment. He pulls on a hoodie and stumbles over to the kitchenette to make coffee. He stares out at the white streetscape while the coffee brews. The good smell brings a little bit of life back into him, and by the time the coffee is done he feels wake enough to look at his phone. He's got a missed call from Minjoon at the station – damnit, Superintendent Shim is looking for him again. He's got another call from a number he doesn't recognize, and a message from Jimin, saying he'll be over to pick Yoongi up around three. 

Right. Ice skating. 

What the fuck had Yoongi been thinking? 

He hadn't, is the thing. Not really. Now he's going ice skating with Jimin on Christmas Eve. 

It doesn't have to be a romantic thing. Friends go ice skating together, don't they? 

It's not like he'd mind if it _were_ a romantic thing, but not even Yoongi is that stupid. 

He takes a sip of coffee and puts his phone down. He's such a moron. He's gone way too far with this, and let his emotions get the better of him. He's supposed to be upholding the rule of law. He's supposed to be _doing the right thing_. 

He has no idea what that is any more.

Maybe he never did. He’s been fooling himself for years. 

Bleak thoughts for Christmas Eve. Ho ho fucking ho. 

A shower helps. He stands for a long, long time under the hot spray, listening to it hit the tiled wall, letting the water slide over him without thinking anything at all. He feels a lot better when he gets out. He isn't sure what you're supposed to wear to a platonic date with your criminal co-conspirator so he settles on black jeans and a dark green sweater over a button down shirt. Fancy enough for anything they'll be doing. He dries his hair and scowls at himself in the mirror. It's just been re-bleached, and he does his best to style it the way the woman at the hair studio did. He doesn’t do nearly as well, but he thinks the result isn’t that bad.

It's only noon. Jimin isn't going to be here for a few more hours. 

Yoongi's not nervous. 

Okay, maybe he's a little nervous. 

He makes himself a drink and sits down on the couch and turns on the television. Stupid nonsense variety shows keep his brain busy. The drink makes him comfortably muzzy and numb. He's drowsy and comfortable when his phone buzzes, making him jump. 

_Downstairs_ is all Jimin says. 

Oh shit. He fell asleep. He glances in the mirror. His eyes are puffy and one cheek is red. Shit. Damn. It's not like Jimin hasn't seen him looking worse, but still. 

He pulls on his coat and grabs his wallet and phone. Jimin is parked out front, idling in that sleek little black car of his.

"Merry Christmas," Jimin says, as Yoongi opens the door and slides into the passenger seat. He smiles. His cheeks and nose are a little red, and his hair is styled up and away from his face, which makes him look older (and very handsome, damnit.) 

"Hey,” Yoongi says. "Jesus, it got cold." 

"Yeah," Jimin says. He hesitates a moment. "Do you not want to go skating? Because we don't have to." 

"No," Yoongi says. "No. I want to do it. Ice skating. Yeah." 

Jimin smiles. "Okay," he says. "Don't worry. It's not going to be that embarrassing if you're bad." 

Yoongi huffs. "Who says I'm going to be bad? It's not like you've ever done it before either, right? Maybe you're going to be bad at it." 

Jimin laughs. "Nah," he says. "I bet I'm going to be great." 

Yoongi scoffs. "Dream on." 

Jimin turns to look at him. "Want to make it a bet? Loser buys dinner?" 

"Loser? How do you lose ice skating?" 

Jimin looks thoughtful for a moment. "Whoever falls the most," he says. 

Yoongi thinks of Jimin – so graceful when he's dancing, but otherwise prone to tripping over his own feet and stumbling down stairs. Yoongi isn't exactly Mr. Athletic, but he used to be pretty fast on his feet back in his schoolyard basketball days. 

"You're on," he says. 

Jimin grins that wrinkle-nosed cheerful grin and puts the car into drive.

As they discover – after waiting in a long line and paying an exorbitant price to rent skates and struggling mightily to get them laced up – neither Jimin nor Yoongi are very good at ice skating. To say the least. 

It's evening now, and the rink is full of happy people enjoying the holiday. The dark trees surrounding the rink are bright with twinkling lights, and the smell of hot chocolate and cider fills the air. Yoongi clings to the rink wall. He's already wiped out once, and his ass aches. Giggling, red-faced, Jimin takes two tentative steps onto the ice. He spreads his arms wide and for a moment he glides forward in graceful motion, eyes closed and lips slightly parted, as pretty as a picture on the front of a card. Then his footing goes unsteady and he wobbles and falls on his ass. 

Yoongi cracks up.

"Ow," Jimin mutters, struggling to right himself.

"All tied up at one," Yoongi says. "I'm just going to stay right here." 

"That's not fair," Jimin says, scooting himself back over to the wall. "Help me up." 

He holds up a gloved hand and Yoongi pulls him to his feet. Jimin’s eyes are bright and his expression is serious. "Come on, hyung. Let's try again." 

Yoongi sighs. "Do I have to?" 

"You already paid a fortune for the skates," Jimin says. "Come on!" 

He strikes out into the rink again and manages to keep his footing this time. Yoongi frowns and pushes himself away from the safety of the wall. The skates hurt his feet. He feels awkward and disconcerted by the skillful skaters easily navigating around them. Not everyone is good, of course, but most people aren't falling on their asses, either. 

A few more tentative steps and Yoongi feels like he might have a rhythm going. Yeah, that's right. He can do this. He fucking learned to dance, didn't he? Ice skating is nothing. Jimin is a couple of meters away, moving forward in a very cautious way with his hands out to the side for balance. 

"It's easy," Yoongi says, pushing forward a little more forcefully. "Look, just –" 

But then a little girl in furry coat and big hat with a bow cuts skillfully in front of Yoongi. He tries to pull himself up short, which is stupid because the little girl knows what she's doing. She spins around in some kind of fancy skater move and smiles at him. 

"Sorry, ahjusshi!" she calls before skating off. 

Yoongi, set off balance by his sudden attempt to break, wobbles for a moment. Jimin is watching him with big eyes.

Yoongi feels himself lose it. His balance goes, and in his panic and struggle he falls to his side, towards Jimin, reaching for Jimin's hand. Jimin grabs it, but his balance is no better than Yoongi's, and in a moment they've both fallen, Yoongi on top of Jimin, his face inches from Jimin's face. 

Jimin smiles up at him. His nose is red. His eyelashes are longer than Yoongi ever realized, and his skin is really smooth, and... 

"Two to one," Jimin says. "I'm ahead." 

He grins. 

Yoongi swallows, but he can't quite seem to get any words to come out. He rolls off Jimin instead and gets to his hands and knees, and then back up to his feet. Jimin gets to his feet as well. He is still smiling at Yoongi as he holds out his hand. 

"Come on," he says. "We can hold each other up." 

Yoongi feels something in his chest flutter. He reaches out and takes Jimin's hand. 

They’re never good, exactly, but after a little while, holding on to each other for support, they're able to make several successful circuits of the rink. It's not as weird as Yoongi thought it would be, holding Jimin's hand while they go around and around the rink. There's soft music playing, and the lights in the trees twinkle, and people are laughing and glad. They fall a few more times, but Yoongi stops keeping count. He'll pay for dinner. He'll pay for five dinners. He doesn't care about the money. There's just something so unbelievably sweet about having this night, even though Yoongi feels weighed down by some sadness he can't quite define. 

This won't last. Nothing good ever lasts. Nothing good is ever what it seems. 

By the time their two hours are up, Yoongi is exhausted and sore. He drops heavily onto the bench to unlace his skates. 

"Ow," Yoongi moans as he leans forward. His hamstrings are not happy. "I thought this was supposed to be a day off." 

"Stop whining, hyung," Jimin says. His own skates are already off. He slips off the bench and crouches at Yoongi's feet and with deft fingers starts undoing Yoongi's laces. "It's not that bad." 

Yoongi throws his head back while Jimin undoes his skates. Maybe it's lazy of him. Maybe he likes the idea of Jimin taking care of him just a little too much. 

"I'm an old man," he says. "I'm not up for this kind of thing anymore." 

Jimin snorts. "Twenty-seven is pretty old," he agrees. "Don't worry, ahjussi. Your struggles are almost over." 

"If I even make it to the showcase," Yoongi mutters, but really, he doesn't want to be reminded of how close the end is. Not tonight. 

In stocking feet, they head over to the counter to return their skates and get back their shoes. 

Once his sneakers are laced back up Yoongi stands up and stretches.

"So," he says. "Where are you taking me for dinner?" 

Jimin's eyes go wide. "Me? Take you? Hyung, I'm pretty sure _you_ lost the bet." 

"You fell more than I did," Yoongi says calmly. He likes seeing Jimin get all worked up. 

"You kept hanging on to the wall!" Jimin's voice gets shrill when he's mad, and there's more color in his cheeks than can be explained by just the cold. 

"No rule against that," Yoongi says, smirking. 

Jimin scowls. "Fine," he says. "I'll pay for dinner. I get to pick where we go, though." 

Yoongi shrugs. "If you're paying," he says, throwing an arm over Jimin's shoulder, "I'm good with anything." 

They get back into Jimin's car and drive to one of the chichi neighborhoods south of the river. Yoongi can't think of anything to say. He leans his head against the windows and watches the streets full of cheerful people and twinkling colorful lights. Jimin is quiet too. It feels strange. 

Jimin parks in a garage in Apgujeong. He flips his keys to the attendant, who greets him with a big smile and a familiar hello. 

Jimin nods, aloof and all of a sudden radiating an air of cool superiority, even though he's still wearing a goofy hat with a pompom on top. 

It's yet another Jimin for Yoongi to file away, this wealthy, arrogant young man who parks flashy foreign cars in the garages of fancy buildings in Apgujeong, another variation on a theme, like a slightly inferior copy of a fine painting. 

Yoongi wonders if he's ever seen the original. 

They go out onto the street. Cold wind makes Yoongi's ears numb. He pulls the collar of his coat up. Despite the weather, people are out and about, enjoying themselves. A crowd spills down the steps of a prettily adorned church. Restaurants are bustling. Jimin leads him through unfamiliar streets, away from the water. Yoongi doesn't belong here, among the glittering and rarified, and he doesn't know how to fake it. 

They come up short in front of a huge building, tall and covered with lights: The Imperial Palace Hotel, the nicest in Seoul, all frosted and sparkling. 

"What are we doing here?" 

"Dinner," Jimin says. "C'mon." 

Yoongi feels shabby and sheepish as they walk through the hotel, tagging along beside Jimin, whose head is high. Beautiful families who look like they've stepped out of a glossy magazine ad adorn the lobby. They look less like real live human beings than like set pieces, perfectly positioned and artfully designed. The lobby itself is an explosion of holiday excess. There are lights everywhere, and real birch trees embedded in banks of fake snow, and glitter. So much glitter.

They wait in front of a bank of elevators in a crowd of well-heeled couples. Yoongi keeps looking over his shoulder, waiting for a security guard or someone to come and chuck him out the front door, but nobody does. Jimin's aloof stare seems to do as much as any designer clothing to convince people they belong here. 

They get into the elevator and are pushed to the back. Yoongi rides up to the fourth floor with his face full of some old man's stinking wet wool coat. A sweet bell chimes. Jimin grabs his hand and he pushes ungracefully out of the still-crowded elevator. 

They emerge into a serene hallway with white walls and black tile floor and tasteful classical art on the wall.

"Jimin," Yoongi says, hesitating. "I'm not dressed for this.” 

Jimin looks him over in a slow and deliberate way. "You're fine," he says. "Come on." 

The restaurant is small and beautiful. Japanese food, which Jimin loves. There are plants and flowers everywhere, and each table is secluded in its own little nook. It feels like they are in a warm and verdant garden even though snow is gathering at the edges of the skylight overhead. A hostess who appears far more delighted than she should shows them to their table. She takes their coats and leaves them with a gracious smile. 

"This is too fancy," Yoongi mutters. "How much is this going to cost?" 

Jimin shakes his head. "Don't worry about it," he says. "Consider it a small thank you." He ducks his head shyly. "I know you're risking a lot to help me. I know it would have been easier for you just to haul me down to the station in cuffs." 

Lopsided grin. Charming. 

Yoongi shifts uneasily. "Nah," he says. "They sent me to bring down the top dog. You're just a small fry." 

Jimin snorts. They both know that's not quite true. 

Yoongi settles uncomfortably into his seat. "Have you come here before?" he asks. 

At the very same time, Jimin says, "I hope you like wine. I never asked. They do a set pairing with the meal." 

They both stop. Awkward pause. Suddenly, all at once, it hits Yoongi right in the gut how intimate this is. Christmas Eve dinner at a fancy restaurant. He glances at the other diners. It's all couples. 

"I like wine," Yoongi says. "Pretty much any booze is okay with me." 

Jimin grins. "I figured," he says. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yoongi asks, mock huffy and annoyed.

Jimin shrugs. “You don’t have a lot of pretensions. I thought it would be okay.”

Oh. Yoongi never thought about it that way before. It’s hard enough for him to be Min Yoongi. When did he have the time or energy to cultivate pretensions?

"So," Yoongi says, nervously smoothing his napkin on his lap. "Have you come here before?" 

Jimin nods. "I know someone who works here," he says, vaguely. “He got me a table as a favor.”

"Ah," Yoongi says. 

"Thanks for coming skating with me today, hyung," Jimin says. "I didn't realize skating was going to be so hard, but it was nice to do something on Christmas." 

"What did you do when you were a kid?" Yoongi asks. 

Jimin doesn't usually like to talk about his family, so Yoongi is surprised when he responds without hesitation. "My mom used to make us go to church. My brother and I hated it, but it's not like we had a choice. Then we had dinner with my mom's family." He smiles, sad and a little distant. "My grandmother always used to give us chocolate oranges." 

"Very wholesome." 

Jimin shrugs sheepishly. "I was always a good kid," he says, like it's some unbelievable fact. "I was first in my class in school." 

Yoongi whistles. "Impressive." 

"Busan Arts High School," Jimin says. It's a quiet boast, made hollow by the passage of time and the essential pointlessness of anything that happened all those years ago. "When I told my teachers that I wanted to be an idol, they begged me to stay. They thought I had a chance to dance professionally." 

He shakes his head.

"What happened?" Yoongi asks. 

Jimin plays with his fork. "My parents were okay with me studying dance, but they didn't want me to leave school. I thought... I thought I was going to be the next Rain or something, so I left anyway. I came to Seoul and passed an audition with an entertainment company – just a no-name company, you wouldn't have heard of them – and I trained with them for six months." He looks up and smiles, rueful and tired. "Then I got kicked out." 

"Shit," Yoongi says. "What did you do?" 

Jimin shrugs. "I just wasn't good enough." He exhales heavily. "I'm not a very good vocalist," he says, "and at the time, I was still learning how to dance to popular music. They didn't need me in the group, so they let me go." 

"And you've been plotting your revenge against idol trainees ever since?" 

Jimin laughs. "Do I look like some kind of tragic villain, hyung? No, I wasn't plotting anything. I stayed in Seoul. I kept going to auditions and stopped going to the high school I was supposed to attend. When I ran out of money for the room I was renting, I started sleeping in bath houses.” He makes a wry face. “Jungkook’s not the first ambitious kid to have that idea." 

A waitress comes and pours them water from a glass bottle. Yoongi’s throat feels dry and he takes a grateful sip. "Why?" he asks. "Why bother?" 

Jimin smiles. "You just don’t get it, hyung. I wanted to be a star. I wanted it more than I've ever wanted anything else in my life, and I would have given anything to make it happen." 

“What happened?” Yoongi asks, because obviously Jimin didn’t make it. Not in the way he wanted. 

Jimin shakes his head. "I kept auditioning. I trained with a few different companies. It was hard, though. I needed to work to have a place to sleep and that meant I didn't have enough time to practice. I got kicked out of another company and left a third. I probably should have just gone home. Tried to finish school or enlisted or something, but .." He smiles again, sweetly this time. 

"But what?" 

Jimin grins. "I met Seokjin hyung.” 

Jimin sits back and takes a sip of his own water. Yoongi tries to avoid looking at the long pale line of his throat. 

"I'd been in Seoul about two years, I guess, and I was waiting tables at a cafe in Hongdae. We had a customer that used to come in a lot. A handsome guy, a little older than me. He would sit at his table with a coffee and a newspaper for hours. I ... I liked him." Jimin's cheeks go a little red. "He was nice to me, and he tipped well. He'd talk to me if we were slow, asked what I was doing, if I was studying, that kind of thing. Small talk. I thought he was an actor. You’ve seen Seokjin hyung. He’s got those classical good looks." 

Yeah. Yoongi’s seen all right. 

"He’d been coming in for a few months, when one day he got up in a big hurry and left the book he'd been reading behind. I ran after him, but it was Hondgae – you know how bad the crowds can get. I was trying to catch up to him – I didn't even know his name at that point – when I saw him slip up close behind a woman, reach into her open purse, and take out her wallet. She never even noticed." Jimin smiles “Next time he came to the cafe, I asked him to teach me how to do it." 

"And?" 

Jimin shrugs, a liquid motion. "He did. He taught me how to pick pockets, but that was just kid stuff. Seokjin hyung was the best, and he taught me everything he knew." 

Yoongi frowns. "I thought it was your dream to be a singer. Suddenly you just gave up?”

Jimin's face falls a little. "I tried for _so long_ , hyung," he says. "I was just a kid. I was basically homeless, never had enough to eat, was working two or three jobs. After I met Seokjin hyung, things got so much easier. I had money, and he let me move in with him." He laughs, a little bitter, very tired, and yeah. Yoongi can hear the years in his voice now. "I gave up." 

“You and Seokjin ripped people off,” Yoongi says. 

“Yeah,” Jimin says. “Yeah, mostly. Did other stuff too, like I said. It was good. Seokjin knew people, and after a while he let me help with bigger jobs. We made money, hyung. So much money. My parents weren’t poor, but money was always tight. I’d never had money like this before. It was intoxicating, honestly. I could buy anything I wanted.” 

Except the thing he wanted most. Yoongi doesn’t know the feeling. He gets by on his policeman’s salary, but he doesn’t have a lot to spare. And any largess he’d experienced as a child was tarnished after his father died and the source of their seeming prosperity became apparent. 

“And then Seokjin left.” 

Jimin nods. His hair falls in his face. 

The waitress comes then with their first dish: delicate silky tofu sitting in a pool of smoked tea miso broth. She explains the dish to them and then smiles and retreats. Yoongi takes a tiny bite. It’s delicious and complex. He’d figured the food would be good here, but it’s _really_ good. How much is this costing Jimin, anyway? 

“Why didn’t you just take Seokjin’s advice and go home? When he left, I mean.” 

Jimin looks up from his soup. “I don’t know,” he says slowly. “I thought about it. I hadn’t talked to my parents in five years, but I think they would have taken me back. I just …” He shakes his head. “I’ve done bad things, hyung. I was ashamed. I didn’t know how to go back to being that kid I was when I left.” 

Jimin turns his attention back to his soup. 

"You ought to listen to your own advice," Yoongi says, a moment too late. 

"Huh?" Jimin looks confused. 

"It’s not too late, right? Go call your mom. You practically forced Jungkook to go home." 

Jimin shakes his head. "I don’t even know what I’d say to them now." 

Yoongi sighs. "I'm just saying you should give your mom a call before it’s not an option." 

Jimin nods. "I know," he says, and then he stares at the table, fidgeting with his spoon. 

Awkward. Awkward. Yoongi should have just kept his mouth shut. He doesn't know what prompted him to speak up, just some sudden longing to be at home with his brother and his mother on Christmas Eve. Even his dad – even his goddamn fucking father! What he wouldn't give for a few minutes with his old man. There are so many questions he'll never have the answers for, so many things he wants to say – scream – in his old man's face. He wants for just one moment the freedom to dump all the problems in his life – his loneliness and failures and apathy and all of it – at his father's feet. 

"What about you?" Jimin asks, forcibly setting the conversation back on a more solid path. "What did you do on Christmas when you were a kid?" 

Yoongi opens his mouth but can't find the words. How can he explain how it was? His father – gregarious and handsome and friends with everyone. People stopped over all evening to say hello. His father and mother would dress up and go to parties. Every year his father would ask him what he wanted most in the world – expensive imported sneakers or a new CD player or an authentic licensed jersey – and every year the gift would be waiting, just exactly what Yoongi wanted. Perfect family. Perfect life. 

Of course, it had all been a lie.

But strangely those memories aren't tarnished by the knowledge that gambling and shady loans funded his father's largess. They're just as crisp and bright in Yoongi's memory as ever. 

Jimin is looking at him, waiting for an answer. "Uh," Yoongi says. "We didn't do much. Went to church. My dad always got us a present." 

"Us?" Jimin asks. 

"Older brother," Yoongi says. "We're... not close." 

"Ah," Jimin says. He smiles, setting his shoulders. "Memories are good and all, but they're in the past. Maybe this will be the start of a new holiday tradition, hyung?" 

Yoongi’s memories aren’t in the past; they are all around him like ghosts he cannot shake, but he'll let himself pretend for tonight. 

The waitress clears their bowls and brings the next course. Tiny little plates, arranged like jewels. The waitress quietly explains what the chef has prepared. Jimin listens with wide-eyed attentiveness. That's another skill of his. He fixes on a person and looks at them like they're the center of the entire world. 

Yoongi has felt that gaze fixed on him. He hopes he hasn't been similarly deluded. 

Yoongi picks up his wine glass. This course is paired with a Pinot Grigio, dry and crisp. Yoongi doesn't honestly give a shit what he drinks, but Namjoon had gone through a wine phase the year before and they'd spent a few months going to different tastings and shit on the weekend. It didn't turn Yoongi into some kind of oenophile, but if it lets him sound like he knows what he's talking about in front of Jimin he'll consider it time well spent. 

"Cheers," he says. "To new traditions." 

Jimin smiles. Their glasses ring as they clink them together.

"To new partners," Jimin says. "And new success." 

Their eyes slide together, frictionless and magnetic. Yoongi can't look away. Jimin smiles fractionally and then lowers his glass to his red lips and takes a sip. 

It is a long, leisurely, delicious meal. Yoongi is hungry, but the tiny dishes have to be savored slowly. Their wine glasses are refilled with magic regularity. Jimin is a happy, affectionate drunk. He tells long stories about people he's met – people he's conned – that Yoongi listens to with rapt and undiscerning attention. Some little voice in the back of his head keeps reminding him the Jimin is a _bad guy_ and he shouldn't be impressed at Jimin's story of stealing several cases of very expensive scotch from a seedy underground club. 

"What did you even do with it? Do you drink scotch?" 

Jimin shakes his head. "No, I don’t drink scotch,” he says, laughing. "I sold it to a man I know who collects." 

Yoongi nods. He is sunken into a hot-house daze. He takes a bite of the latest little delight the waitress set in front of him – uni, pickled onion, broth – and the salty sweet tangy taste is overwhelming. 

"That's bad," he mutters. 

Jimin's eyes go wide. "I thought it was delicious," he says quietly. 

"No," Yoongi says, "not the food. You. You shouldn't steal." 

Jimin snorts and rolls his eyes. "Yes, officer," he says. 

Yoongi frowns. 

"Hey," Jimin says. "You don't really believe all that do you?" The alcohol has made his cheeks red. 

"What stuff?" 

"Law and order and justice. All that bullshit." 

Yoongi shrugs. "I want to believe it," he says. 

"But do you?" Jimin asks, pressing. 

Yoongi is saved from having to answer by the arrival of the next course. 

Finally, after an almost interminable amount of time, they are served dessert: tiny shortbread cookies floating in a lake of sweet milk, with a dollop of yuzu ice on the side. 

Yoongi takes a tiny bite. It's so good, almost overwhelmingly so. 

"I'm going pass out," he says. He feels too hot and too full and more than a little drunk. "You're going to have to carry me out of here." 

Jimin snorts. "You're fine," he says. He looks composed, but his flush cheeks reveal the truth. 

Yoongi finishes his dessert, because it seems like a shame to waste it. Then he leans back heavily in his chair. 

"Thanks," he says. 

"Hmm?" Jimin looks up. 

"Thanks for this," Yoongi says. "It was a lot nicer than sitting on my couch and eating instant ramyeon." 

"Thank you," Jimin says. "I wouldn't have come by myself. It was a lot nicer than being alone." 

He smiles so sweetly that it makes Yoongi's heart ache. 

When the waitress next comes over Jimin asks for the check, but she smiles and tells him that it's been taken care of. Their meal is on the house. 

Jimin frowns. "No," he says. "I can't accept that. Hyung can't..." 

Someone behind the waitress laughs: a handsome man in a white chef's jacket. Oh. Jimin’s friend who works here is the executive chef. Of course.

"Come on, Jimin-ah," he says, smiling. "Let me treat you for once." 

Jimin shakes his head and makes a stern face, but it's less intimidating than usual. He is drunk and happy and it shows in every line of his being. "You don't have to do this, hyung." 

"Not another word about it," the chef says. "Just consider it a favor. God knows you've done enough for me." 

Jimin nods, wrinkling his nose. "Ah, hyung, this is my friend Yoongi." 

"Nice to meet you," Yoongi says. He feels drowsy and too full and out of place again. He wants to go home and sleep. 

"Same," the chef says, smiling. "You and Jimin are...?" 

"Working together," Yoongi says. "For a little while." 

"Ah," the chef says. "Well. Merry Christmas to the both of you. And get home safely, okay?" 

They fumble into their coats. Yoongi feels too hot and strangely sulky all of a sudden. Out in the hall, a few diners mill around. Jimin looks tired as he ties his scarf back around his neck. 

"I need to go for a walk," he says, fixing Yoongi with an unsteady eye. "Do you want to go for a walk?" 

Yoongi cannot work up the wherewithal to refuse. 

The walk turns out to be a trip up to the rooftop bar. The patio is closed because of the weather, but they sit at the bar and sip some festive cocktail with peppermint and cranberry juice. (Really, just pretend to sip in Yoongi's case. He is tired and doesn't feel like drinking more.) Behind the bar, plate glass windows open up on the city. It is a shimmering expanse of light and sky, and the dark world below. 

Too much, Yoongi thinks. Too big. His heart is beating fast and he doesn't know why. Beside him, Jimin is a slumped and abstract shape. The bar is full of beautiful people enjoying this special and beautiful night, but Yoongi feels strange and empty suddenly. He wants to go home. 

"Hey," he says, poking Jimin's shoulder. "I think I'm gonna head out. Are you okay to drive?" 

Jimin looks up at him with huge eyes. "Hyung," he says. "Let me crash at your place. I don't want to be alone." 

***** 

They leave Jimin's car in the garage and get a cab. Jimin is deep in some strange and silent mood. He leans his head back against the car seat and closes his eyes. It's later than Yoongi realized. Almost midnight. They spent a long time in the restaurant, but the memories already seem strangely faded, like a pleasant but vanishing dream. 

When they get to Yoongi's place, he pays the driver and fumbles with the keypad to the front door. The halls are empty. Everyone is asleep. Yoongi opens the door to his apartment. It's as messy as he left it. Blankets unmade, and this morning's breakfast dishes in the sink. 

Jimin takes off his coat and throws it on the couch. 

Yoongi takes off his coat too, retrieves Jimin’s, and hangs them both up in the closet. 

Jimin sits down heavily on the couch. "I'm sorry," he says. It seems like the car ride cleared his head a bit. "I had too much to drink." 

Yoongi shrugs. "It's no problem." He swallows. "Did I piss you off or something?" 

Jimin frowns at him. "What?" 

Damn. Yoongi shifts, uncomfortable. "Did I piss you off? I felt like things got weird there at the end." 

Jimin shakes his head. "No," he says, sounding very tired. "I just... I just remembered who I am, is all." 

"What does that even mean, Jimin?" Yoongi can hear the heat in his voice start to kindle. 

"I'm a bad guy," Jimin says, laughing like it's some joke. "You're a cop. I guess I forgot what that means." 

"What does it mean?" Yoongi can play the idiot too. 

Jimin shrugs. "You don't approve of what I do. I get it. After all of this is over and you put your uniform back on, you're going to look back and remember me as a _criminal_." 

"No," Yoongi says, too quickly. "I mean..." 

Jimin laughs. "See?" he says. "You can't deny it. It's okay. I know what I am. I just forget sometimes." 

Yoongi frowns. "Why don't you stop then? You have money. Go to college. Open a restaurant, like Seokjin." 

Jimin shrugs. "I'm not good at anything else." 

Yoongi snorts. "Park Jimin," he says. "What's this pity party all about? I never thought I'd see this kind of thing from you." 

Jimin exhales through his nose. "Just," he says quietly. "I remembered for a little bit what it's like to want to be normal." 

Yoongi doesn't know what to say to that. Jimin isn't a bad person, he thinks, but at the end of the day, the law is a bright hard line, and Jimin stands on the other side of it from Yoongi.

Yoongi has pretended to believe that for a long time.

"Let's go to sleep," Yoongi says. 

Jimin looks at him for a moment, but then shakes his head and sighs. "Okay," he says. "Let's go to sleep." 

Yoongi gets him a pair of sweatpants. They take turns washing up and changing. Yoongi looks pale in the bathroom mirror. Jimin emerges with a clean face red from washing and dark circles under his eyes. He looks so tired. He crosses over to the living room and starts to make up the bed on the couch where Jungkook sleeps. 

"No," Yoongi says. "Come here. Just sleep with me." 

Oh. He didn't mean it to come out like that. 

Jimin is staring at him with huge eyes. 

"I mean. Uh. The bed is big enough for two people." 

"Oh," Jimin says. “Right.” He nods. 

They climb into bed, careful to stick to their own sides. No touching. Yoongi is wide awake suddenly. He can feel every time Jimin shifts. 

"Hey," he says.

Jimin rolls over to look at him. "Hyung?" 

"I know you’ve done bad stuff but I don't think you're a bad person," Yoongi says. "Don't be stupid, okay?" 

Jimin huffs out a little laugh. "Gee. Thanks." 

"Come here," Yoongi says, and it's the alcohol and the exhaustion and a million other things talking. He scoots across the bed awkwardly and wraps his arms around Jimin’s shoulders. 

There is a tense frozen moment before Jimin relaxes into his embrace. 

"All the people I've loved the most have been bad people," Yoongi whispers. 

"Oh," Jimin says, and he doesn't say anything else, but he rests his head on Yoongi's shoulder and presses closer, and they stay like that until they fall asleep.


	14. Chapter 14

The fluorescent light flickers. Yoongi watches a mother struggle to tie her daughter's scarf; the wind keeps catching it and pulling it out of her hand. The sky is low and grey and sullen, and Yoongi is so tired he feels a little delirious. 

"Officer Min." 

Yoongi's eyes snap back into focus. "Yes, Superintendent." 

Shim's eyes are dark and glinting in his ruddy face. His uniform jacket is done up to the very top button. The collar digs into his fleshy neck. "Is there something outside that requires your attention?" 

Yoongi mutely shakes his head. “No, Sir.” 

Shim huffs. His desk is polished to a high shine today. The glassine surface reflects the light so brightly that Yoongi is momentarily dazzled. 

"It's been three weeks since I last took report from you," Shim says.

Yoongi nods. He is wearing street clothes today: jeans and a hoodie, a beanie pulled down over the tops of his ears. Without the armor of his uniform, he feels especially vulnerable. 

“Sir,” Yoongi says. “I know you wanted an arrest, but I’m making progress. You saw the report I submitted to the Prosecutor’s office, right?” 

Shim’s unruly eyebrows lower. “I saw it, Officer Min.” 

Oh shit. Right. Don’t imply your superior doesn’t do his job. “Of course, Sir,” Yoongi says. “I know. I mean, you saw how promising this new lead is, right? Not only do I have substantial evidence that Seo Junho has been operating a fraudulent entertainment company, I have good evidence that he has close ties to organized crime and ...” 

“Officer Min!”

“Sir?” 

“When did I tell you to expand the purview of your investigation? You’re supposed to be looking into a fraud complaint.”

Shim looks bad, Yoongi thinks. Old. His hair is streaked through with more gray than Yoongi remembers seeing there before. How old is he, anyway? 60? 70? Why doesn’t the guy just fucking retire? Does he have a wife and kids? Fat bawling grandbabies at home? Or is this it for him? Just Gwangjin Station and nothing else?

“You didn’t, Sir,” Yoongi says. “But the course of my investigation naturally lead me to these new discoveries. I thought that since the nature of these crimes is so much more serious I should—” 

“Officer Min, but you do not get to decide the priorities of Gwangjin Station.” Shim slams his fist on the glossy surface of his desk. He’d already been in a bad mood when Yoongi came in — Minjoon had warned him — but Yoongi has rarely seen Shim like this. He’s furious and shaking with it, barely able to contain his rage. 

“I know that, Sir,” Yoongi says quietly, even though he can feel his own anger start to bubble up in his blood. Easy, Min Yoongi. Just keep your mouth shut. You don’t need much longer. Just another month. Just one more month and... 

Shim settles back in his chair, visibly calming himself. Outside, the mother and daughter are gone, on their way home, and other pedestrians hunch forward as they brace against the biting wind.

“You know, Officer Min, I’ve seen your type before,” Shim says, in a calmer voice. He is leaning back in his chair and giving Yoongi a look of thinly disguised loathing from under those massive brows. 

Yoongi doesn’t respond. 

“You watched some drama or saw some movie and thought you’d become a police officer, that you’d do some _good_ in this world.” Shim snorts. “Fool. I knew you were a fool before you ever set foot in Gwangjin, Officer Min.” He shakes his head. “Did it make you feel good when you snitched on Jo Jinyoung? Did you like that self-righteous thrill? Does it make you glad to know that you irreparably damaged the promising career of one of the finest police officers I’ve ever known?” 

Yoongi hangs his head. He hadn’t thought that. He hadn’t thought much about it at all really. He’d just known that Superintendent Jo had been violating policy. Was it naïve? Yeah, sure, but his world had been shaken up, good and bad mixed all together like oil and water in emulsion. He didn’t have any way to make sense of it other than to follow the goddamn rules. 

“Well?” Shim is waiting for his reply. 

“I was just trying to do my job,” Yoongi mutters. Pause. “Sir.” 

Shim laughs a dry, bitter laugh. “Your job is to do what I say, Officer Min. That’s exactly your problem. You think you know better than everyone else. I’ve been the Senior Superintendent of Gwangjin station since before you were born. Do you really think you know better than I do how to keep the peace?” 

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut. It’s not about keeping the peace. It’s not about that. It’s about fucking figuring out what side of that bright line of right and wrong you stand on. It’s about trying to make some sense out of all of the fucked-up things he’s done and seen, trying to keep it so that bad men — men like Seo and Kwak and men like _his father_ — get what they deserve. 

“No,” Yoongi says. 

Shim waits. 

“Sir.” Yoongi says, abject, staring down at his knees. 

“I agreed to accept your transfer to my district because I’m a smart man, Officer Min. Not like you. I knew refusing would be more trouble than it was worth. Sure, you’re a troublemaker, but I’ve seen your type _plenty of times before_. I know how to handle men like you. I know how to break you.” 

Yoongi exhales. He thinks of all those long months spent answering phones, spent doing the most demeaning kinds of work. Yes, Shim knows how to break him. He’s come damn close to doing it. 

“What is right is what I say, Officer Min,” Shim says. “I agreed to investigate this supposed fraud for the same reason I took you in, but I never intended to spend months of time and manpower on it.” 

“No, sir,” Yoongi says. “I know.” 

“Well, then,” Shim says. “I want an arrest.” 

“I know, Sir,” Yoongi says. “I just need a little more time. The group is supposed to debut in a month and I know that when that happens Shim will...” 

“You don’t have a month,” Shim roars. All the fury is back. The veins in his throat bulge. Yoongi shakes with nerves and anger. “I want this done. Now. This isn’t some kind of game, Min. I want an arrest and I want a report written that we’ve taken down the person behind this ridiculous case and I want it with a fucking bow on top. Tidy. Neat. _Done_.”

“Yes, Sir,” Yoongi says. His knuckles are white. 

“You have two weeks, Officer Min. Two weeks to make your arrest and write your report and end this nonsense. If things aren’t taken care of by then I’m going to refer you to Internal Investigations, under suspicion that you’ve been compromised.”

Yoongi looks up. “What? Refer me to internal Investigations? Sir, I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m not...” 

“Officer Min,” Shim says, shaking his head. “Didn’t you hear what I just told you? There is no right and wrong. There is only what I say. Make your arrest and end this.” 

The rest of the threat goes unsaid. 

Yoongi swallows. His throat is tight, and his chest is tight. He is shaking. 

“Yes, Sir,” he says, nodding, and with great effort he bows one more time.

*****

At practice the next day, Yoongi can't concentrate. Everything is all jumbled up in his head right now: Jimin and the case and his future and his fucking father. God. Always his fucking father. What would his dad say now, if he saw Yoongi? 

He'd probably drop dead again of shock if he knew Yoongi was a cop. 

That year before his father died, Yoongi had run through a whole spectrum of dreams: basketball star and poet and underground rapper and classical pianist and... 

And every time his father had just laughed good naturally and patted him on the back and told him that he could be anything he wanted to be, but that the best thing to be was a man with a lot of friends. 

He'd been wrong on both fucking counts. 

"Again," Jimin says, clapping, calling everyone to attention. 

Yoongi blinks to shakes himself out of his reverie. They've done the routine so many times now he can do it on autopilot. He doesn't even have to think. They form back up in the center of the room. Jimin breathes in deeply. It is subtle, but there are lines of tension at the corners of his mouth and shadows under his eyes. 

He's as worried as Yoongi is, for all his feigned bravado. 

And so much of it is feigned, so much more than Yoongi would have guessed. Christmas night, he laid awake for a long time with Jimin sleeping beside him, close and warm. Jimin had curled up around his pillow, clinging. He had looked very young and very tired, and Yoongi had felt some strange mixture of fear and shame. 

He can't help Jimin. He can't save him. He can't make the things that Jimin has done right. 

All he can do is get through today, and then tomorrow, and then one more day at a time until this is all over, or it all comes crashing down on his head. 

They will know soon. 

They run through Heave Ho! a few more times. It's still not good. At best, they seem like what they are – undertrained and undertalented singers of a joke-y and old-fashioned song, wearing embarrassingly uncool clothing and singing about a vanished world of tall ships and open ocean. At worst... 

Well, Yoongi will settle for not getting laughed off the stage. 

When they are all sweating and exhausted, Jimin finally calls for practice to be over. Jungkook is chatting with Hyungjoon, and Byungchul and Wonjae are talking about the new car Byungchul's father promised him as a present for his debut. The normal messy scramble for bags and coats ensues. Yoongi hesitates. Jimin is watching the door. He glances quickly at his watch, and then nods at Yoongi, briefly. 

"Jungkook-ah," Yoongi says. 

Jungkook looks up, eyes wide, too alert. He's in on this too, of course. No way they could keep him in the dark, with him living on Yoongi's sofa and all. 

"Yes, hyung?" 

"Let's go." 

Everyone troops downstairs and... 

Yes. They're right on time. 

A tall and imposing man in a long black trench coat is standing in the doorway of the Golden Calf Entertainment offices. His dark glossy hair is slicked back, and his glasses glint in the dim fluorescent light. Everything about him – somber briefcase, handsome features, glossy black shoes – exudes wealth and good taste. 

This is not the kind of man that they are used to seeing in the Golden Calf premises.

The man gives an imperious sniff and looks at the assembled trainees like they are smaller than ants. He turns to the man with the gold tooth, still snoozing behind the front desk, and says, "Excuse me. I have an appointment with Seo Junho." 

Gold Tooth snorts and snuffs as he slowly wakes up. 

The man looks at him with thinly veiled revulsion. 

Yoongi has to hand it him; Seokjin is really fucking selling this. 

"Uh," Gold Tooth says. "Uh, yeah. Who should I tell him is here?" 

"Tell him it's Kim Jacob. We spoke the other night and I told him I would pay him a visit here to further discuss certain business opportunities." 

Seokjin sniffs and crosses his arms, all aloof impatience. The sleeve of his coat slides up to reveal an expensive watch gleaming on his wrist. 

"Come on, kids," Jimin says. "Let's go." He starts to move towards the door, herding Byungchul and Wonjae with a gentle hand on the back. 

They all tumble downstairs in a racket of footsteps and excited chatter. 

"Who do you think he was?" 

"Is he gonna help with our debut?" 

"Did you see that watch? That was a _Bregeut_. My dad has one and he won't even let me touch it." 

They spill out into street. Yoongi and Jungkook head down the block and then turn the corner and wait there for Jimin, who shows up a few minutes later. 

It's not like the other kids are really bright enough to catch on, but it seems prudent not to make it absolutely obvious that they're all going someplace together. 

"Well," Jimin says when he appears around the corner. "This is it." 

"You think he's good enough? To fool Seo?" Yoongi mutters. 

Jimin swallows. "If he's not, then nobody is." He relaxes and smiles. "Don’t worry. Seokjin hyung is that good, and Seo is that greedy. He’ll bite.” He steps between them and slings his arms over Yoongi and Jungkook's shoulders. "Let's go get tteokbokki. My treat."

Jungkook gives his happy assent – the kid never turns down free food – but Yoongi isn’t quite so pleased. He knows Seo is a greedy bastard, but some part of him can’t get over how ridiculous it is. Virtual idols? Really? Still, it’s the only plan they’ve got. It’s not like he came up with anything better.

He hopes like hell it works, but he wishes that they weren’t quite so dependent on Seokjin. 

Jimin says he’s the best, but Yoongi can’t quite shake his suspicions. If he’s being honest though, those suspicions might be rooted in far different jealousies. 

“Hyung!” Jungkook is waiting for him at the corner. “Hyung, are you coming? I’m hungry.” 

Yoongi shakes his head. Damn kid is going through a growth spurt. He’s grown three centimeters since Yoongi first saw him sitting on the floor in the waiting room all those weeks ago and he’s _always_ hungry. 

“Coming, Jungkook-ah,” he says, and he breaks into a reluctant half-jog.

***** 

The audio is grainy and the volume is turned low. They're in a back room in a private club: stylish interior cleverly concealed behind a shabby foyer. It is sometime after midnight, and the club is still busy. Things are just picking up, in fact. Yoongi can hear the crowd in the main room, talking and eating and smoking and drinking. Gambling. Doing worse things, maybe. 

He can't worry about that right now. 

He had been at home dozing on the couch while Jungkook watched some stupid drama when his phone rang. It was Jimin, who gave him an address and told him to meet there in fifteen minutes. He’d hung up before Yoongi had even been able to answer. 

Yoongi had brushed his hair and then on second consideration pulled on a hat. He'd swapped his pajamas for some almost clean jeans and stepped into his shoes and stumbled out the door, yelling a reminder for Jungkook not to stay up too late. 

Kid doesn't get nearly enough sleep. 

He'd driven to the address that Jimin provided and found himself on the wrong side of a locked door, arguing tiredly with a burly security guy, until Jimin showed up and smiled an electric smile and in that magic way of his whisked them both inside. 

A too-young, too-pretty hostess showed them to a private room in the back of the club. Seokjin was already there waiting, grinned like a fool when they stepped through the door. 

"Finally," he said. "I thought you two would never get here." 

Now they are settled in and comfortable. Snacks on the table and drinks in hand, they could be any friendly little group of pals gathering for some good conversation and innocent fun.

They aren't. 

Tonight, after a week of careful grooming, Seokjin took Seo out for an expensive dinner and made his big pitch. 

He'd been wired, of course. Now they are going to listen to the audio playback. 

Jimin gets up and locks the door. Seokjin presses play.

Muffled scraping. "...a great opportunity," Seokjin says. His voice sounds tinny and hollow in the recording, and he's speaking in strange accent – something slightly foreign, like someone who's spent many years overseas. "I heard from a friend in common that you were a discerning man looking for promising investment opportunities." 

Seo huffs. "Who is this friend?" 

Seo is not a friendly man. He sounds appalled at the suggestion. His coldness and shrewdness come through in his tense, clipped tone. 

"Oh now," Seokjin says, "I've heard good things about you from so many people, CEO." There's a silky ease in the way he talks, something pleasing and soft. Cajoling. 

That's where Jimin learned it. Huh. 

"Who?" Seo asks. He knows this game, Yoongi thinks. He knows this game and he's not so easily fooled. 

"Blackbird," Seokjin says. 

Even Yoongi knows that name: insurgent in the Seoul underground, he's come fast onto the scene in the last few years and earned a reputation as the leader of a violent and ruthless gang with extensive overseas ties. 

Seo laughs, cold and appreciative. "You know Blackbird hyung, do you?" He sounds like he thinks Seokjin is faking. 

Seokjin laughs. "Oh, Myungjunnie and I go way back. I've known him for years." 

Yoongi hadn't even known Blackbird's real name, but Seokjin does and so does Jimin, from the look on his face. Seokjin – or Kim Jacob – apparently knows the man well enough to address him diminutively. 

That takes some fucking balls.

Seo takes a moment to respond. "I see," he says. "We all known that Blackbird hyung has a good head for business. Sit down, Jacob-ssi. Let's hear what you have to say." 

"Okay," Seokjin says – the real one, not the man with the affected accent in the recording. "Fast forward about twenty minutes. I couldn’t get him to shut up. He talked up Golden Calf and his ‘hot new boy group’ quite a bit, if you can believe it." 

Yoongi snorts. 

Jimin gives him a dirty look as he fiddles with Seokjin's phone. 

This is wrong, Yoongi thinks. He takes a sip of his drink – just beer tonight. No need for pretention. Let’s tell it like it is, Min Yoongi. Illegal. It is illegal to record people without their permission. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be doing this, except that he thinks that maybe by breaking this one small rule he will be doing a hell of a lot more good. 

He takes another drink. Calm down, Yoongi. Calm down. 

The recording starts again. Seokjin laughs, and then says, "I knew you were a man with a good sense." 

Seo hums appreciatively. "It’s not cheap," he says. "Room and board, lessons, costumes. Expensive little brats..." 

"They always are," Seokjin says. "And what are the odds that your group is going to hit big? One in a hundred? One in a thousand? What are the odds that they earn back enough to repay all that money you've spent on them, let alone start to turn a profit?" 

Seo doesn't responds. 

Seokjin laughs softly and continues. "But you don't need them to succeed, do you, CEO Seo?" 

Seo chuckles. "You are a perceptive man, Jacob-ssi. I have been fortunate to find some investors for my humble company." 

Seokjin chuckles. "Yes," he says. "I heard about that. You and Bang Wooyoung have quite the mutually beneficial arrangement, don't you?" 

Seo sucks in a breath, sharp. "You certainly know a lot about my business, Jacob-ssi." 

Seokjin laughs again, not so friendly this time. "I make it a point to find out everything I can about a man before I come to him with a business opportunity. I don't like to waste my time." 

Seo makes an appreciative noise. "That's wise of you. What is this opportunity of yours, Jacob-ssi? Let’s not waste any more of that valuable time of yours." 

"What if I said that I could offer you the opportunity to invest in a boyband without any of the downsides? No need to train a bunch of spoiled brats, no risk of scandal or failure, just a fool-proof plan to milk the fat wallets of all those eager foolish little fans." 

"What are you talking about?" 

" _Virtual_ idols, CEO Seo," Seokjin says. "Already big in Japan. I know we had Adam, but the technology has grown by leaps and bounds since then. You farm out art and production to some cheap overseas venture and get some no-name to record the songs, and bang. Instant hit at a fraction of the cost of managing your little troop of brats." 

Seo snorts. "This is your big pitch? You must be joking right now.” 

"I never joke," Seokjin says. There's a rustling as of papers moving. "Here. I had my staff prepare an interactive prototype for you." 

There's a momentary pause. 

Jimin asks, "The USB? He took it?" 

Seokjin nods. "Yeah," he says. "We'll have to wait for Taehyung to tell us if he actually took the bait." 

Seo's recorded voice breaks the silence. "What's the catch here?" 

"I don't know what you mean," Seokjin says. "There is no catch." 

"No catch?" Seo snorts. "I can't believe that." 

Seokjin laughs, low and satisfied. "There's no catch because there doesn't need to be a catch, CEO. You're in the entertainment business now, aren't you? You've seen how desperate these kids are. The promise of fame that draws them like honey draws flies. And the fans are even worse; they'll spend any amount of money on their precious oppas." There is scorn and annoyance in his voice, so real and harsh that it gives Yoongi pause. "These girls and boys want perfect young men to adore from a safe remove, and we can give them that." 

After a moment, Seo says, "You are quite the salesman, Jacob-ssi. I have to admit that the idea of not having to put up with these brats is appealing." 

"I thought you might think so," Seokjin says. "As I said, I've heard only the best things about you." 

"What are you asking?" 

Seokjin makes a terse noise. "My capital is tied up currently in other business ventures. I'm looking for someone with the means and desire to make a smart investment." 

Seo huffs. "And what about Golden Calf?" 

"I think we both know you intend to cut your losses in that regard as soon as you can." 

"What are you implying?" 

Seokjin laughs. "I know that you have a lucrative arrangement with Bang Wooyoung, but I can do you better." 

"Bang Wooyoung and Yellow Dragon have been good partners in my ventures," Seo says slowly.

"Dangerous partners," Seokjin says. "I know their line of business. Risky, CEO. Very risky. I can offer you an equally profitable opportunity with none of the downside." 

Seo snorts. "This all sounds a little too good to be true," he mutters. "Virtual idols." 

"I'm a man who always strives to be ahead of my time," Seokjin says. "Take a look at the presentation. I think you'll be impressed with what you see." 

"I hope I am," Seo says. 

Then there's a muffled noise. The clink of silverware. The conversation grows more distant. 

"I had to take off my jacket," Seokjin says sheepishly. "It was a million degrees in there." 

Jimin kills the recording. "It doesn't matter," he says. He looks pale, and tense. "Hyung, you did it." 

Seokjin leans back against the leather bench and takes a drink, and for a moment he seems to be the man in the recording again: cool and sophisticated and totally assured. 

"I think I did," he says. "I hope I did, for your sake." 

There's a soft knock at the door. Jimin gets up to open it. The waitress comes in, sleek in a black dress. The mirrored walls and the spangles of light cast by her chandelier earrings make Yoongi's head spin. He feels like he's underwater. He feels like he's living someone else's life. He can retrace every single step he took, but he still can't quite understand how he ended up here. 

He reaches for the fresh drink the waitress hands him. The glass is cool and damp. She catches his eye and smiles and he smiles back and then looks away, ashamed. He doesn't know if this is that kind of place, but he doesn't know what kind of place this is. He just followed Jimin. Part of him would like to think that Jimin and Seokjin aren't those kinds of men but really he doesn't know what kinds of men they are. 

Now is not the time for doubts, but the doubts are there, waiting. 

Seokjin says something to the waitress. Yoongi doesn't catch it – everything is fuzzed out, like a montage in a movie. She giggles and covers her mouth. Neither of them means it. They're just playing their roles. 

The door closes. 

"Cheers," Jimin says, holding his glass aloft. A bead of condensation runs down his pale slim wrist. They have the heat turned up too high in here. 

"Cheers," Seokjin says. 

Yoongi doesn't say anything, but he raises his glass as well. 

Clink of glassware. Thud of bass. Muted laughter from the other room.

Yoongi closes his eyes. 

Jimin is watching him when he opens them. 

"What's wrong?" Jimin asks quietly. 

Yoongi shakes his head. "Nothing," he says. "Nothing. I just..." He squeezes his eyes shut again for just a moment. "Just tired." 

Jimin nods. "Me too," he says. "Don't worry. It's almost over." 

That is what Yoongi is dreading most of all.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Winner make a small cameo appearance in this chapter, and there is also some ~mature sexual content~.

They rehearse in their stage costumes now: torn black jeans, white button-down shirts with voluminous sleeves, and sequined vests, each in a different bright color. They wear matching bandanas. Byungchul has an eye patch. The whole room is spangled with the light thrown off by their costumes. Shimmering. Opalescent. 

Hyungjoon misses a note. Yoongi can see Jimin cringe. Even now, he still wants them to be _good_. As if that makes any fucking difference. As if any of this is going to matter. 

They are practicing as diligently as ever but Seo's interest in their debut has waned. He hasn't been seen around the company building in days. Even Kwak has vented his frustrations in front of the kids. Yoongi suspects he knows why Seo is so distracted. Taehyung confirmed that Seo clicked the link on the USB that Seokjin had passed him. He watch the little video that Namjoon and Taehyung created: the very first 'debut teaser' for SUPER*STAR, which is the name that Namjoon gave their fictitious virtual idol group. 

Yoongi watched the video too, and he has to admit it’s impressive. It looks expensive and professional. Taehyung's animations are amazing. It's short, of course, and not as clean as it could be, but Seokjin already explained that away. They're waiting to get more seed money before they can produce the final version. Namjoon's track sounds good too. Better than goddamn Heave Ho! certainly. Jungkook provided most of the vocals. He hadn’t shut up after he gotten back from the studio. Getting to work with star producer _Kim Namjoon_ is apparently the coolest thing he’s ever done.

Trust Seo not to recognize that SUPER*STAR has the same lead vocal as the idol group he’s already preparing to debut.

More importantly, Seo installed the SUPER*STAR app and tried the 'fan to idol' chat feature that Taehyung had whipped up. In this flashy portal fans can chat directly with their idols and get answers real time, powered by the most sophisticated AI. 

The 'AI' had been Taehyung and Jimin, huddled around Taehyung's computer, serious but amused, coming up with the most ridiculous possible answers to Seo's questions. 

Yoongi, watching from Taehyung’s velvet couch, had wanted no part of it. There's no way anyone would have been taken in by their soppy, cliché response of 'I do it all because of my love for you ~<3' to Seo's query of 'Why do you want to be a star?' 

Nobody except Seo, apparently, who thinks that’s kind of drivel fans want from their idols. 

Fuck. Maybe it is. Yoongi doesn't know. 

But the chat feature had just been a red herring. Bundled in with that slick little app had been a more nefarious piece of code – Taehyung’s kernal-based keystroke logger. According to Taehyung, his program is virtually undetectable and gives them access to every single thing Seo types: passwords, web addresses, emails. All of it. 

They have him hooked now. Taehyung is waiting for Jimin’s word to reel him in.

Seo had been so impressed with the video and the web portal that he'd called Seokjin the next day and asked to meet up again for dinner. 

Idiot. Greed makes people stupid. Ambition is poison.

Now Island Boys are two weeks away from their debut and Seo is missing in action and Yoongi just wants to be done with this all. Wants to be done, and dreads it, too. 

He has a voicemail from Superintendent Shim he hasn't listened to yet. 

He doesn't want to listen. He knows it won't be good. 

The door from the hall opens. Kwak walks in. He looks sweaty and tired. His suit jacket is wrinkled and there's a stain on his white shirt. 

"How's it going?" 

"Good, Manager Kwak," Jimin says. "Things are coming along well. I think—"

"I don't care what you think," Kwak says, and Yoongi's stomach twists when Jimin flinches – barely, almost imperceptibly – away from him. 

The bruise on Jimin's cheek has only just faded. 

"Let me see you run through it again, kids." 

Jimin breathes in through his nose and stops the music and queues it up to start again. Everyone finds their places. Yoongi starts in the back, with one hand on Jungkook's shoulder, and with Wonjae’s hand on his shoulder. He closes his eyes for just a second, waiting for the intro to end. Jungkook's strong, fine voice rings out the first word of the first verse, and they all start to move. Really, Yoongi thinks, keeping his head up, watching in the mirror, it's not _awful_. It's just not good either. No surprise. From what Jimin has said none of them except for Jungkook are good enough to make the cut at a real entertainment company. Considering the raw materials, Jimin has worked a near miracle to turn them into something _almost_ respectable. 

Everything is fine through the second verse. Kwak watches with narrowed eyes, tapping his foot in time to the song. Everything is fine, until Hyungjoon makes a misstep and stumbles into Byungchul, who trips and nearly falls. 

"Hey, watch it!" He grunts, turning to Hyungjoon with a scowl instead of getting back into formation. 

Presented with six feet and eighty-five kilos of fuming, red-faced bully, Hyungjoon cowers back. He's the quietest of the kids, the youngest but for Jungkook, and the one that Yoongi knows least well. Hell. He doesn't even know why Hyungjoon wants to do this. He's not a dancer, and he can't rap. His voice is high and sweet, but even to Yoongi's untrained ear nothing special. He shows up for practice and works hard, but he doesn't seem filled with that same hot internal fire that drives Jungkook. 

"Sorry, hyung," Hyungjoon says. "I'm sorry. I..." 

Byungchul lunges towards him. Tensions are running high, and a mistake in front of Kwak means who-knows-how-many more run-throughs before they're free for the night. Before Byungchul's fist can meet Hyungjoon's face (sharp crack and red fountain of blood) Kwak's thick-fingered hand catches Byungchul's wrist, squeezing. 

Kwak Youngwon was quite the fighter in his day. Yoongi looked up the old records. Twelve arrests for brawling. Six for assault. In one of those instances, the victim was beaten so badly his eye socket was crushed. The man died, but Kwak had gotten off with an aggravated assault conviction and two years in jail. 

Nothing, for a man like this. 

He is older now and his youth is spent, but there is still an immense amount of strength in those rough hands. 

"Cut it the fuck out, Byungchul,” Kwak growls. 

Byungchul strains against his grip, going red in the face. He bucks, baring his teeth. Wild dog. Fucking idiot. Kwak squeezes harder, and his red face goes white. 

"Fuck," Byungchul moans. "Fuck. You broke my wrist. You broke my goddamn wrist." 

Yoongi is fairly sure he didn’t.

Kwak lets go and Byungchul drops to the floor, heavy as a sack of rice. He holds his wrist and holds his breath and rolls around in half-feigned agony. Jimin is tense, watching, alert. 

Hyungjoon's eyes are huge, whites showing all around the irises. "I'm sor–" 

"Shut your fucking mouth," Kwak spits. "We've spent a fucking fortune training you idiots and you don’t know the fucking moves? What the fuck is wrong with you?" 

Hyungjoon quails. Big tears run down his red cheeks. His eyes are swimming. His chest heaves once, twice, and he keeps the sob down. The other kids look away in a polite fiction of ignorance. 

"Jimin," Kwak says. "What the fuck have you been doing with these morons? What the fuck is the point of having you here if you can't even teach them how to do the dance?" 

Jimin's face is ashen, except for two points of color on his cheeks. 

"I've done the best I can with the limited resources available to me," he says quietly and with great dignity.

"You fucking punk," Kwak says, leaning forward, looming. He's not a big man but he's bigger than Jimin and those damn suits he wears make him look bigger still. "What the fuck do you think this is? You think this is fucking SM Entertainment? You think you're going to be the next fucking Big Bang? What the fuck were you thinking when you came to me with this –" 

"He's done a good job," Yoongi says, stepping forward.

Kwak stares at him, breathing hard. His eyes are bloodshot. He’s been trying to drown some of his many sorrows, seems like. 

"Jimin has done a great job," Yoongi says. "We would be nothing without him."

Kwak is tense. Taut. Almost vibrating. So angry there's a vein pulsing in his forehead. He takes a staggering step toward Yoongi and then stops and turns back towards Jimin. Dazed. Drunken stagger. 

Maybe he is. 

"Yeah," Jungkook chimes in. "He's taught us so much, Manager Kwak. We owe everything to Jimin hyung!" 

For some reason Jungkook's words seem to cut through Kwak's furious confusion. He shakes himself like some big, wild dog rousing from sleep and then laughs harsh and loud. Braying. More a bark than a laugh. 

"You think you owe him, kid? You have no fucking idea what he's done. You don't know who he is." He glances over at Jimin, eyes narrow. "Do they, Jiminnie? Should I tell them how much they owe you? How this was all your fucking idea?" 

Jimin says nothing. His mouth is pressed into a straight line. His lips are white. 

Kwak scoffs. "You better have them fucking ready," he says, and then he shoves Jimin out of the way and pushes the door open so hard it slams into the wall. They can hear him thundering down the hall, all the way to the elevator, until finally there is quiet. 

No one says a word. 

Hyungjoon is still quietly sobbing. Byungchul seems to have realized his wrist isn't broken, but he still cradles it to his chest. Wonjae is studying his feet. Jimin leans back against the wall, eyes closed. 

Yoongi feels frozen. Paralyzed. What the fuck is he doing here? How did this happen? What he wants to do is go after Kwak and get into that elevator with him. It’s an old building. The elevator is slow. The trip to the ground floor is plenty long enough for him to show Kwak what it's like to mess with someone who can fucking hold his own. Someone who isn't scared. Someone he can't bully. 

Yoongi can't do that though. He is not Officer Min of the Seoul Metropolitan Police. He is just Min Yoongi, and he can't do any of those things. 

He can help Jimin though. He can do that. Jungkook, a better person by far, is already consoling Hyungjoon.

He puts a hand on Jimin's shoulder. 

"You okay?" he asks. He doesn't think Kwak shoved him hard, but Jimin's eyes are closed, his face is pale, and he is breathing hard. 

He doesn't say anything. 

"Hey," Yoongi says. "Do you need me to take you to the hospital or something?”

"I'm fine," Jimin says. He opens his eye and swallows. "I'm fine. I'm–" He takes a deep breath through his nose and pushes himself up from the wall. Walking to the front of the room, he claps his hand once to get everyone's attention. Five sets of wide eyes look up at him. 

"Take five minutes," he says, "and we'll go again." 

Yoongi snorts.

"Is something funny?" Jimin asks, sharp. 

"No," Yoongi says. "I just thought the kids might want a little time more time than that. Hyungjoon needs to wash his face." 

Jimin closes his eyes. "Ten minutes, then," he says coldly. He turns and walks over to the window and rests his hand on the sill, fingers digging in so hard his knuckles are white. 

Well, Yoongi fucked that up.

In the back of the room, on the shelf that holds the stereo, Jimin’s phone is still recording.

***** 

“Where are you going?” 

Friday evening at Jimin’s apartment. There’s no particular reason for Yoongi to be here. He tells himself he’s keeping an eye on Jimin, making sure Jimin sticks to his end of their little bargain, but... but honestly, he just wants to pretend for a little while longer that they are on the same team. There’s not much longer for him to engage in that pretty little piece of self-deception. 

Ten days. Island Boys debuts in ten days. In ten days, this is all going to be over, one way or another. 

Jimin, fresh from the shower, dressed in black slacks and a very soft grey shirt with a vee neck collar that bares his collarbones, does not look like he plans on crashing on the couch and stuffing his face with pizza, which is what Yoongi had hoped they’d do this evening. 

“I have to go see someone,” Jimin says, evasively.

“Who?” Yoongi asks. “What’s so urgent you need to go take care of it at eleven thirty on a Friday night?”

Jimin smiles, amused. “Not everyone keeps geriatric hours, Yoongi-ssi.” 

Oh, so it’s Yoongi-ssi tonight, is it? 

“Got a hot date?” Yoongi asks, half teasing, half nervous. “Going to meet up with Seokjin?” 

“No,” Jimin says curtly, pumping some product out of a bottle into his hands and then running his fingers through his dark hair. He evaded the bleach during the Island Boys’ trips to the salon, but they dyed his dark hair with some wash of plum or purple, something so subtle that it’s barely noticeable until his hair catches the light and shines warm color. 

He pauses and looks up. Meets Yoongi’s gaze in the mirror. He looks good. He always looks good, but he looks _really good_ right now. Expensive. Confident. Dangerous. 

He knows it.

“Don’t worry,” Jimin says. “I’m not interested in Seokjin hyung. There’s someone else, now.” 

He holds Yoongi’s gaze for a long moment, and then smiles and looks away. 

Oh. Oh. 

Yoongi grins and then tamps it down. Play it cool, Yoongi. Don’t embarrass yourself. You’re the hyung here. You’re not some lovesick kid. 

“So,” Yoongi says, half leaning over the back of the couch. “Where are you going?” 

Jimin exhales slowly. “Have you ever heard of Blue Rose?” 

Fuck. Of course Yoongi has. They operate one of the biggest drug cartels in Seoul. 

He sits up and frowns. “What the fuck are you going to meet with them for?”

Jimin sighs. “I know one of their guys. I want to go tell him about Seo.” 

Yoongi frowns. “Why? Seo’s working with Yellow Dragon, isn’t he?” 

Jimin nods. He is. 

“What the fuck are you playing at, Jimin?” It comes out harsher than Yoongi intends, but fuck. Aren’t they past this? 

“Yoon has helped me out a lot over the years. Thrown a lot of work my way. He’s done me favors. Seo is moving in on their turf. I owe him this.” 

Yoongi frowns. “Maybe they’ve helped you out but they’re bad news. They’re ruthless. We’ve got dozens of open cases, people they’re suspected of having assaulted or offed. They’re criminals, Jimin. They’re —“ 

“So am I!” Jimin’s cheeks are really red. “So am I, Yoongi-ssi. I’m _just like them_. No, I haven’t murdered anyone, but I’ve done my share of terrible things. I’ve stolen and lied and schemed. I’ve taken the few chances this shitty world threw my way and I’ve milked them for all they’re worth. I’m _just like them_.” 

“You’re not,” Yoongi protests weakly. Sure, Jimin may have broken the law, but Yoongi knows that he’s a good person. Jimin has shown Jungkook incredible kindness. He’s looked out for all the trainees. He’s kind and funny and strangely shy. Self-deprecating. Excitable. Amazing.

“I am,” Jimin says, a little sadly, like he regrets it, almost. He sighs. “I’m being self-serving, anyway. Blue Rose doesn’t treat those who encroach on their territory kindly. It wouldn’t hurt for Seo to have one more enemy.” He meets Yoongi’s gaze in the mirror again. “You can come with me, if it would make you feel better.” 

Yoongi closes his eyes. He thinks of his dad, who had been so kind, and so personable and so ready to help everyone. His dad, who had gambled away all their savings and mortgaged the house and borrowed money from the worst unscrupulous men. His dad, who he had loved so much. Who hurt him so much. 

Jimin has broken the law and will break it again, but he is not a bad person. Yoongi is sure of that. 

“You’re really okay with me coming?” 

Jimin looks at him with a strange, flat, expression, but the coldness fades after a moment. “It would make me feel better if you came, hyung,” he says softly. 

“Yeah,” Yoongi says. “Sure. I can do that, Jimin-ah. I’d be glad to.” 

Jimin smiles, and Yoongi’s heart leaps. 

*****

He showers quickly. When he gets out there is an outfit hanging on the back of the door for him: Leather pants and a black tee shirt and a black blazer. Tacky, Yoongi thinks, but if Jimin wants to see him wear this, he will. 

He shaves using a borrowed razor and scowls at himself in the mirror. He’s looking thin these days, and tired. Looking his age. 

He is exhausted, body and soul. He is ready for this to be over. 

But now is not the time for introspection. Focus on tonight. 

The leather pants are ridiculously tight. He has to shimmy and squirm to get them on. He zippers them and buttons them and then does a funny dance, adjusting his junk. He’s going to lose circulation if he’s not careful. He checks himself out in the mirror. Even after months of primping and styling, he’s still nothing to write home about. Too skinny. Too pale. 

The bathroom door opens. Jimin steps in, mouth open, but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes are dark. He smiles. It is not a polite smile. 

Jesus. 

Yoongi clears his throat. “These pants are going to cause me permanent damage,” he mutters. “If I’m the end of my family line, I’m blaming it on you.” 

Jimin chuckles, low in his throat. “You get used to them,” he says. “Besides, they look good.” 

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s never been good with sincere attraction. He reaches for the tee shirt and pulls it on. 

“Free show is over,” he mutters, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He’s still not used to the blonde.

Jimin shakes his head. “Still looks pretty good to me,” he says, but his mask cracks and he grins, happy and a little stupid.

Jimin has such a tender heart. He works so hard to keep it tamped down, but god, that’s hard. So hard. Yoongi knows. 

“Are you checking out my ass, Park Jimin?” 

Confident and casual, Jimin nods.

“Hmph,” Yoongi says, secretly flattered, secretly pleased. He can see the color rise in his chest, in his cheeks. He starts to part his hair. 

“No,” Jimin says. “Not like that. Here. Let me do it.” 

Jimin’s fingers comb through Yoongi’s hair. He is so close that Yoongi can smell that aftershave he likes so much, musky and expensive. He can feel Jimin’s body heat, and he wants to press forward and feel… 

Yoongi closes his eyes. 

“There,” Jimin says. 

Yoongi opens his eyes. His hair is a mess, but an intentional one. 

“Looks good,” he says, turning his head one way and then another. 

“Yeah,” Jimin says, resting one hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. “You sure you want to come?”

Yoongi huffs. “Come on,” he said. “I’m wearing this ridiculous get up. I’ve got to go now, or it would be a waste.” 

Jimin smiles, soft and hot at the same time somehow. “Yeah,” he says. “It would. Let’s go.” 

*****

Back in the passenger seat of the Audi, Yoongi stares out the window. He feels worked up, somehow. Too eager. For months now they’ve been toeing some line. Back there in Jimin’s bathroom, with Jimin’s hands in his hair, it feels like they finally crossed it. 

But now is not the time. 

Jimin drives well. Cool and confident and skilled, like he does everything. He shifts into fifth gear and passes an SUV on the right. 

That’s illegal.

Yoongi snorts. Jesus. What’s wrong with him? They’re going to meet with the lieutenant of an infamous crime syndicate and he’s worried about minor traffic infractions? 

“What’s so funny?” Jimin asks, glancing over. 

“Nothing,” Yoongi says, drawling. “But if I were on duty I could have pulled you over for that. You’re speeding too. Moving violation. Worth two points on your license.” 

Jimin grins. “And would you have pulled me over, Officer Min?” 

Yoongi shrugs. “Depends on how bored I was,” he drawls, although truth be told he’s rarely worked highway patrol. 

“And what would you say if you came to the car and saw me sitting here? Would there be nothing I could do to change your mind?” Jimin’s voice drops an octave. 

Yoongi shivers. 

“I have a duty to uphold the laws of the nation,” Yoongi mutters, “but, uh, no. Not _nothing_.” 

Jimin laughs.

It’s really not that funny, but Yoongi laughs too, almost giddy with nerves and fear and _want_.

Jimin heads west out of the city into a neighborhood by the river. Quiet. Commercial and light industrial properties mix uneasily. He stops in front of a nondescript building with a striped awning and a sign advertising salvage and junk services. 

“This is it?” Yoongi asks, confused. 

“Yeah,” Jimin says. “Come on.” 

Jimin parks the car a half a block away. The streets are empty. To Yoongi’s surprise the front door is unlocked when Jimin tries it. They walk down a bland hallway. Linoleum floors and fluorescent lights. It doesn’t look like the hideout of a crime kingpin. 

Yoongi is starting to realize these places never do. 

There is a door at the end of the hall and beyond it Yoongi can hear the faint thud of bass music. Jimin knocks twice on the door, and then waits and knocks again. 

“Who’s there?” a muffled voice asks. 

“Admiral Yi Sun Shin.”

Yoongi snorts. 

Apparently, the admiral is expected because a moment later the door opens. 

Two tall men are standing on the other side of the doorway, wearing black suits and black glasses even though they’re inside and it’s after midnight. They aren’t conspicuously armed but Yoongi can tell they’re wearing shoulder holsters from the way they move. 

“I’m here to speak to Yoon,” Jimin says. “Hanbin told him I was coming tonight.” 

One of the men glances at the other, who nods. 

“Come in,” the first man says, stepping aside. 

They step past him into a big room that looks like it belongs in the VIP section of the most exclusive Gangnam club. White marble floors and black and silver brocade wallpaper. Crystal chandeliers glitter. A crowd of young and pretty people laugh and drink and dance and talk. The bar against the back wall is teeming. 

“Jesus,” Yoongi mutters. “How do you find all these places?” 

Jimin smirks. “It’s not hard if you know the right people and you ask the right questions. Come on, hyung.”

Jimin weaves through the crowd with intention. This is a younger scene than the last of these little dens of iniquity they visited. Fewer grey beards with one foot in the grave. Fewer imposing older women with imperious gazes and too much jewelry. Here there are tall and beautiful women — Korean and foreign, but without exception gorgeous. Here there are young people cut from the same cloth as Director Seo: wealthy and ambitious and too sure that they can channel their ambition into success. 

Jimin attracts some attention – he is known here too – but he ignores everyone and leads Yoongi to the back of the room, where a velvet rope separates the masses from a less crowded area elevated one step above the main floor. Even in secret gambling dens there are social strata, it seems. A man is standing at the entranced to this VIP area. He is tall and slim, with black hair slicked back. His suit is non-nonsense black, but he wears it with the easy grace of a model and makes it look expensive and stylish in the process. 

“Hoon,” Jimin says, suddenly smiling. 

“Jimin,” the man says, grinning too. “It’s good to see you, man.” 

They perform some intricate handshake. Maybe it’s another password. Maybe that’s just how the kids greet each other these days. Yoongi would have to ask Namjoon. He doesn’t know. 

“How are you, hyung?” Jimin asks. 

Hoon nods. “Doing well,” he says. “You heard about…?” 

Jimin nods. “Yes,” he says. “I heard from Hanbin. That was impressive.” 

“It’s all Yoon,” Hoon says. “He and Mino came up with the whole thing. I just took care of a few details.” 

Jimin laughs. “I’m sure you did.” 

Yoongi doesn’t have a fucking clue what they’re talking about. He shifts his weight from foot to foot. These leather pants are way too tight. He feels overheated and conspicuous all of a sudden. He’s never belonged in places like this, full of these beautiful and terrible people. He’s never belonged _anywhere_ , truth be told, but it’s easier to ignore that when the differences aren’t so glaring. 

“Who’s this?” Hoon asks, and Yoongi looks up. 

“A friend,” Jimin says, smiling gently. “He’s helping me with a project.” 

“Arranging a few details?” Hoon asks, with a small, ironic smile. 

“No, no,” Jimin says. “Nothing like that.” 

“Ah,” Hoon says. He motions further into the VIP section. “They’re back there.” 

Jimin smiles, and nods. “Thanks, hyung. Be careful.”

“You know I always am,” Hoon says with a smile. 

They walk past him into the rarified air of the VIP section. It’s less crowded here. Groups of three and four sit in spacious booths, talking quietly. 

“What was that all about?” Yoongi asks. 

“Arranging details,” Jimin says, quietly. “Did you hear how they found three burnt bodies after that warehouse fire last month?” 

Yoongi had heard. It had been the talk of Gwangjin Station. The bodies were burnt, but they hadn’t died in the fire. Each of them had a bullet through the skull. The police have no leads in the inquiry into their deaths. 

“Hoon ‘arranged those details’,” Jimin says quietly. “That’s what he does.” 

“Shit,” Yoongi says, nearly stumbling. “He’s a hit man?” 

“Shut up,” Jimin says, harshly. Then, more quietly still and in a warning tone. “Yes. Don’t do anything stupid, hyung.” 

Yoongi glances back at the man. He sees Yoongi looking and smiles a bland, affable smile. 

Three bodies. Three bullets through the skull, and all the evidence burned away in the fire. 

Jesus. 

“Come on,” Jimin says, and he grabs Yoongi’s wrist. 

They step up to the bar. More gleaming silver fixtures. The bartender is quiet and professional. He sees nothing and hears nothing, Yoongi would bet. Jimin orders them both dirty martinis, up. Yoongi doesn't even like martinis, but he takes a sip anyway. He's playing a part here, just like Jimin is. The man Yoongi is pretending to be wears leather pants and drinks dirty martinis and knows he belongs here, belongs anywhere, doesn't even care if he doesn't belong because he's hot shit and he knows it. 

Yes. Yoongi can pretend to be that man. 

After a moment or two another man in a somber black suit walks up to Jimin. He is startlingly handsome, but his doll-like features are at odds with the two days’ worth of stubble on his jaw. 

"Jinu," Jimin says, nodding his head. 

Jinu nods, reserved but polite. "It's good to see you, Jimin." 

"You too." He smiles – or almost smiles. It never quite reaches his watchful, blank eyes. "He'll see you now." 

Jimin nods and follows Jinu as he walks towards the back of the room. It's obvious where they're going. Yoongi doesn't get why they even need to be shown the way. There's a table up on a higher platform. Five steps up, illuminated by subtle lights so that it's better lit than the rest of the room. This is all theater, Yoongi thinks. All bullshit. It's just as much bullshit as the damn idol group. All these people acting tough, acting cool, acting like they know what the fuck is going on. Yoongi envies them. He pities them. 

They climb the stairs to the high table. Two women and three men sit around the table. One of the women and one of the men shift over to make room, leaving Yoongi and Jimin sitting across from each other on opposite sides of the table. 

"Jimin," says one of the men at the back of the table. He is young, too. Younger than Yoongi would have expected. Younger, even, than the other two, although he wears a similar dark suit. He has a friendly face and an easy smile. This is Yoon? He looks like the friendly kid you'd see working behind the counter in your neighborhood coffee shop. 

"Yoon," Jimin says, inclining his head slightly. "It's good to see you." 

"You too," Yoon says. 

"I really appreciate Grandfather allowing me to take some of your valuable time," Jimin says softly. Yoongi has never seen him this quiet, this still, this subservient. 

The underworld is like a sinkhole. On top floats a layer of filth, slick and glittering. Distracting. Minor players with flashy taste draw the eye. Jewelry and cars and all the other material trappings of illicit excess. Seo and Kwak are part of that top layer of crass, and even the rich fat old fools at the first club Jimin took him to. Just small-time crooks with small dreams. Beneath that, though, there is a whole, dark, cold world. Cold currents drift up and the dross on top move to and fro, barely even realizing the great powers at work beneath them. 

These young men, with their somber dark suits and friendly faces – they are part of that vast, dark world. Respectable and well spoken, they look like they would make any mother proud, but the darkness of the abyss obscures things more terrible than a petty bully like Kwak would ever dare dream. 

"It's our pleasure," Yoon says, smiling kindly. "We've been friends for a long time, haven't we, Jimin?" 

Jimin is twenty-five years old, and these men do not look much older. How long could they possibly have been friends? But then, the life expectancy in this line of work must be curtailed, and everything else gets adjusted accordingly. 

There is another man beside Yoon with harsh bleached hair and an earring who does not smile. He is wearing a black suit too, and he sits with an easy grace, one arm over the back of the seat. He looks cool and calm and pleased. He doesn't look like the kind of person you wanted to offend. 

"Yes," Jimin says, seeming a little more at ease. 

"What can we help you with?" Yoon asks mildly. 

"You've already give me so much help, Yoon,” Jimin says. “I’m here to try and help you today." 

Yoon leans forward, more interested now. "Help us? As prodigious as your talents are, Jimin, I'm not sure we need anyone with your particular set of skills right now." 

Jimin is tense. Yoongi can see it in the set of his jaw, in the way his eyes are a little too wide. "Seo Junho has been working with Yellow Dragon," Jimin says. 

Now the other man leans forward too, eyes narrow. 

"What?" Yoon asks. "Seo Junho? What do –" 

"He’s leasing a warehouse in Pyeongtaek," Jimin says quietly, urgently. "He formed an entertainment company to move the money he’s getting from Bang Woohyun. They’re bringing in –." 

“I know Bang Woohyun.” Yoon's eyes are dark. There's no trace of affable good-nature left in them. “That dogfucker.” 

The man to his left, the one who hasn't spoken so far, says quietly, "How do you know this?" 

Jimin smiles, cold and cruel. "I was working with him on something else. We had a deal and then he went and pulled this shit. He’s trying to cross me," he says. "I don't want to see him get away with it." 

Yoon turns to the man on his left. “Mino, what do you think?” 

Mino looks thoughtful for a moment. "Do you know if he has insurance on the property?" 

Jimin shakes his head. "I don't know," he admits. 

Mino looks thoughtful. "Daesung hyung would be able to find out." 

Yoon nods. "That's good," he says. "Can you make arrangements? Don't do anything yet, but let’s be ready to act." 

Yoon turns to Jimin again. "I'll have to independently confirm all of this, Jimin," he says, “but if what you said is true, we’ll owe you a big debt.”

Jimin nods. "The debt is mine. This is the least I could do." 

"We'll remember this," Yoon says. He leans back in his seat. "Please, you and your friend should avail yourself of our hospitality.”

It is a dismissal. Jimin inclines his head again. Yoongi nearly trips over his own feet standing up. He nods his own head, a moment too late, and then follows Jimin back down the stairs. They cross back through the velvet ropes that separate these titans of the deep from the small fry. Hoon, affable and kind, smiles at Jimin and waves. 

His smile is not the smile of a cold-blooded killer, but what does Yoongi know? 

He expects Jimin to make a bee-line for the front door, but he doesn't. He veers to the left, and Yoongi nearly runs straight into a waitress carrying a tray of drinks. He mutters an apology and runs two steps to catch up with Jimin. 

"What's the rush?" he says, grabbing hold of Jimin's sleeve. "You gotta piss or something?" 

Jimin turns to him, pale and drawn. "I need a drink," he says. “Another drink,” he clarifies when he sees the look on Yoongi’s face.

"Shit," Yoongi says. "Me too." 

They stand at the back of the crowd as eager partygoers ahead of them push and shove money at the bartenders. Through some slow process of osmosis, they end up belly up to the bar. Jimin orders them both drinks and slaps down a few bills. 

"You don't have to pay," Yoongi mutters. Jimin is too free with his money. Yoongi doesn't need any fucking charity. 

Jimin just rolls his eyes, but in the end it doesn’t matter. The bartender tells them it’s on the house. 

They find a table near the wall, out of the way. Jimin drops heavily into his seat and takes a sip of his drink. He closes his eyes and exhales, and then says, "Thanks." 

Yoongi wrinkles his nose. "For what?" 

Jimin shrugs. He takes another sip of his drink. One finger rests on the edge of the glass. Yoongi's head aches softly. He is so tired. It hits him in a moment. Dead fucking tired. What time is it anyway? He takes his phone out of his pocket. Well after midnight. He ought to be in bed. 

"Just," Jimin says, slowly, "For coming with me, I guess." 

"I didn't even do anything," Yoongi mutters.

Jimin shakes his head. "I felt better because you were here," he says. 

"Why?" Yoongi frowns. "You... You act like we're partners or something, Park Jimin, but I just follow you around and make an ass of myself. I'm the idiot sidekick." 

"That's not true," Jimin says. "Do you feel that way?" 

Yoongi stirs his drink. Takes a sip. He does feel that way. The feeling has been growing for a while and now it all bubbles up in his chest like heartburn. It makes it hard to breath. 

He has felt like the idiot sidekick his entire life.

"Yeah," he says. "This –" He gestures broadly at the dark sparkling club. "–is all yours. Your world. Your plan. I just went along with it... Huh." He laughs. He can't help himself. 

"What?" Jimin frowns. "What's so funny?" 

Yoongi shakes his head. "Nothing. I mean. Shim is right, I guess. I went along with your fucking plan because I wanted to feel like I was doing something important. Making history, or some shit." He laughs softly. Shim really does have the read of him. You're nothing, Min Yoongi, and you should remember that. Look what happens when you get big ideas in your head.

Jimin shakes his head. "That's not true," he says quietly. 

"How is it not true?" Yoongi drains his glass. “All of this is your idea. You did everything and dumb old Yoongi just tagged along." 

Jimin frowns. It's a subtle thing. Just the corners of his mouth turn down. He licks his plush red lower lip. 

Yoongi wants to kiss him.

This would all be so much easier if he didn't. 

He's such an idiot. 

"I don’t know why you think that,” Jimin says quietly. “I could haven't done this without you, hyung.” 

"I didn't do anything," Yoongi says again, darkly.

Jimin shakes his head. "I've never been good enough on my own. Not good enough to debut. Not good enough to run my own scams." He exhales. "You did more than you realize, hyung. You believed in me, and that mattered a lot." 

He closes his eyes and smiles. 

Yoongi feels all hot and cold inside. Mixed up. Is it true? Does he believe in Jimin? Maybe. As much as he's let himself believe in anyone since his dad died, anyway. He could have gone to Shim and gotten a warrant for Jimin's arrest. He could have had Jimin hauled away in cuffs. That would have been so much easier. Here's the villain behind the fraud, Superintendent Shim. A reprobate. A career criminal. Unredeemable. He could have wrapped a tidy little bow around his investigation and given Shim what he wanted. And although Kwak and Seo and the rest of them are in their own way responsible, when it comes down to it, this whole thing was Jimin's idea. Jimin's fault. Yoongi heard his confession. That alone was more than enough cause for him to act. 

But he didn't. He hadn't even been tempted to, really. Even from the beginning, something about Jimin had drawn his attention. He had been all too willing to believe Jimin when he'd claimed to want to make amends. Maybe he's an idiot, but he believes it even more strongly now. Jimin is not a bad person. He's done some fucked up shit, but he is loyal and kind and surprisingly tender when he drops his facade of ice cold indifference. 

And Yoongi wants him. Not just because he is beautiful – although he is more beautiful than anyone that Yoongi has a right to desire – but because Yoongi is in love with him. 

He doesn't even know how it happened. He's an idiot for letting it happen, but it's too late now. What's done is done. He's in love with Jimin. 

"Yeah," Yoongi says, finishing his drink. "Well, you sure fooled me into thinking you had everything figured out." 

Jimin opens his eyes and smiles. His cheek dimples. Damn. Totally unnecessary, Yoongi thinks. Isn't so much charm wasted on one person?

"That's my talent," Jimin says. "I fool everyone." 

Yoongi huffs. "You don't fool me," he mutters. "Not anymore. I know all your secrets, Park Jimin." 

Jimin laughs, scrunching up his eyes. He looks so young when he does that. He is so young. Twenty-five years old. Just a kid, really. "Not all of them," he says. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes. He wants another drink. "What now? You gonna tell me you're secretly a double agent, working for the National Intelligence Service or something?" 

Jimin shakes his head. "No," he says. "No." He finishes his drink too. The ice chimes against the glass. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Come here."

Yoongi leans across the table. What the fuck is it going to be now? Jimin has really been on Seo's side this whole time? Jimin is really the long-lost heir to some corporate fortune? Jimin isn't even his name at all, and everything Yoongi knows – or thinks he knows – has been a lie? 

"I didn't want Seo to pass you," Jimin mumbles, close to Yoongi's ear. 

"What kind of lame-ass secret is that?” Yoongi mutters. “Knew that already.” 

"'It was because I thought you were so hot," Jimin says. "Arrogant, handsome rich brat. I didn't want to be distracted, but I couldn't stop thinking about what I wanted to do to you. When I heard you rap the first time, I couldn't stop thinking about what _I_ wanted to make you say." 

Yoongi swallows. "Stop fucking with me," he mutters. He's probably blushing. 

"I'm not," Jimin says. "You must have known." 

"I thought you were a kid," Yoongi says. "I thought..." 

Jimin is so close to him. Yoongi can feel Jimin's breath on his neck. 

"Come dance with me," Jimin whispers, his hand finding Yoongi's hand. He gets to his feet, trying to pull Yoongi with him. 

Yoongi resists for a moment, deadweight. 

"I don't dance," Yoongi mutters. 

"Liar," Jimin says. "I taught you how to dance. Dance with me, Min Yoongi." 

If he refuses now, Yoongi knows this moment will not come again. He shouldn't. He shouldn't. He knows he shouldn't. He is violating all kinds of ethical and legal standards, but it has been so long since he's felt _anything_ as clear and bright and real as what he feels for Jimin. 

That can't be wrong. 

He lets himself get tugged to his feet. Jimin is not a big person, but neither is Yoongi and Jimin is very strong. He slides his hand around Yoongi's back, rests it on his hip, and steers them though the throbbing darkness. It's more crowded now. Where did all these damn people come from? So many beautiful men and women drinking and dancing and enjoying criminal hospitality. Is there this much darkness in the world? 

Yoongi knows the answer to that. 

He must hesitate. Jimin squeezes his hip. "You okay, hyung?" 

"Yeah," Yoongi says. "Sorry. Yeah." 

"Let's just dance for a while," Jimin says softly. "Worries are for tomorrow, okay?" 

His hand finds Yoongi's hand again. Fingers intertwined. Yoongi's palms are sweaty. He's such a pig. Jimin doesn't seem to mind. Jimin turns to face him, and he is smiling a smile of so much warmth and tenderness that Yoongi's heart aches. The world is full of fucking terrible people and awful things, and Jimin has seen a hell of a lot of it, and he can still smile like that. 

It's the most amazing thing Yoongi has ever seen.

"Yeah," he says, "Okay." 

The music pulses and someone jostles into him from behind, but he doesn't care about any of that. All he can see is Jimin. He leans forward and kisses him. Jimin stills for a moment, like he's surprised, but then his arms come up to Yoongi's waist, tugging him closer, and he presses forward, and there's nothing else in the whole world that matters but getting as close as they can, close enough to squeeze out all that darkness.

***** 

It's nothing like Yoongi thought. 

What had he imagined? After practice, tense and exhausted at the same time, standing under the weak, lukewarm shower spray in his little apartment bathroom, he'd thought of Jimin: dark eyes, broad shoulders and narrow waist, skin slick with sweat. The glimpse of dark hair trailing down under the waistband of his track pants when he lifted his shirt to wipe his face. The couplings of Yoongi’s fantasies were abstract, hurried things: walking in on Jimin in some unspecified locker room half naked and hard. Dropping to his knees and sucking Jimin off while Jimin's hand pressed just a little too firmly on the back of Yoongi's head, urging, eager, in control. Jimin fucking him up against the shower wall in that locker room of his dreams, the two of them in one stall struggling to keep quiet while shadowy strangers soaped up in the stalls next door.

Irrational. Unreal. 

And yet not that much different than Yoongi’s had before. 

He'd known from maybe thirteen or fourteen that he liked guys. His brother had one friend – Jinhyung or Jinhwan or something – who had been as handsome as a movie actor. Tall and fit and perfect. Whenever he'd come over to hang out, Yoongi had lingered around making a nuisance out of himself until one day his brother had gotten mad and asked him, sarcastically, if he had a crush on Jinhyung or Jinhwan or whatever his name had been. 

Yoongi had protested that no, of course not. Of course he didn't have a crush on a _guy_. 

But that had been a lie. 

It was just one more way for him to let his father down. 

He never told them. How could he tell them? He'd barely known when his father had died, and he hadn't had the courage to further break his mother's heart before she passed. It didn't matter anyway. In college he went to Itaewon a few times with another likeminded friend and he hooked up with a few guys. Dark and urgent couplings in bathrooms, in love hotels. He lost his virginity at twenty to a handsome older man whose real name he never knew. It was fine. It was good, even. The older man was fit and handsome, with striking silver hair. He was a considerate and tender lover who made Yoongi feel things he’d never imagined. 

Yoongi never saw him again after that night. 

He told Namjoon eventually because Namjoon was his best friend and he told Hoseok too, but he hedged his bets and told them he liked women too. And he does, although not as much. Not nearly as much. He went on dates that Hoseok set him up with, but they were exhausting obligations that Yoongi hadn’t cared enough to make an effort for. 

He had started to believe that all the love had leeched out through the cracks in his heart. 

It’s okay. He has never minded being alone. 

But now there is Jimin, and it is nothing like he imagined. 

They go back to Jimin's apartment because it's closer, because Jimin is driving. There is a weird and crackling electricity passing between them. Completed circuit. Yoongi resists the urge to take Jimin's hand, even though there's nobody around to see at three AM in a respectable residential neighborhood. The moment the door to Jimin's apartment is shut they are kissing again, pulled together with magnetic urgency. Jimin's hands are in his hair and Jimin is pressing him back against the wall, but it's not that fierce violent rush of Yoongi's dream. Jimin's fingers graze his scalp. Jimin's eyes flutter shut and then open, like he can't get enough of Yoongi's ugly mug. 

That is more unbelievable than any of the fantasies. A hundred times more so. 

"What do you want?" Jimin asks. "What do you want me to do?" 

Yoongi closes his eyes. "Want you to fuck me," he mutters. "Wanna suck you off." 

He's never said that to anyone he expected to be there in the morning. It's weird and intense and hot. 

Jimin laughs and kisses him again. "I like that idea," he says. His hands find Yoongi's waist, push up under his tee shirt.

Jimin's expensive clothes end up all over the floor. He sits at the edge of the bed naked. His thighs are muscular and covered with dark hair, and his cock is thick and dark, pushing up against his lower belly. His flat, muscular stomach trembles as he breathes in and out. 

"What are you waiting for?" Jimin asks, a little demanding, a little too eager. 

"You're so hot," Yoongi mutters. "It's stupid." 

Jimin snorts and rolls his eyes. "What does that even mean?" 

Yoongi shrugs. He doesn't know. He just doesn't know how it makes sense that someone who looks like Jimin would look at him with such plain and obvious longing. 

"Don't know," Yoongi says. He crawls forward, on his knees. The wood floors are cold and a little hard, but he likes the discomfort. He kisses Jimin's knee first, and up his inner thigh. The lean muscle tenses. The dark curls of Jimin's pubic hair tickle his nose. He smells rich and musky and good. Yoongi breathes in. Jimin leans back, fingers digging into the sheets. His chest and cheeks are all flush pink. It looks so good. 

Yoongi kisses the side of his dick, wet-mouthed and eager, and then wraps his hand around the base. It's been a while since he's done this – not like he's done it that many times to begin with – and it takes him a moment to get used to the stretch, to the taste of Jimin on his tongue. With his mouth and his hand he works Jimin's cock. He is bare chested but still has the damn leather pants on, and his own dick is pressed uncomfortably into the fly. 

"You're so good," Jimin says, breathy, eager. "Fuck, Yoongi." He swallows and Yoongi can see the fine muscles in his throat shift as he swallows. "You feel so good. You're doing such a good job." 

Yoongi’s eyes water. His knees ache. It’s that delicious, terrible feeling of being used, of being made into a tool and yet at the same time being in control of Jimin’s pleasure. He runs his tongue along the sensitive underside of Jimin’s dick and thrills at the low sweet noise Jimin makes deep in his chest. 

“Wait,” Jimin says. “Wait.” There is the faintest tremor in his voice. “I want… Do you still want me to fuck you?” 

Yoongi pulls up. Jimin’s dick is red and spit-slick and brushes against his chin. He feels too hot, electric energy thrumming under his skin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah.”

“Yeah… what?” 

Jimin is watching him with those dark curious eyes, one hand wrapped around his own dick now, slowly jerking himself off. Yoongi wants him. He wants whatever Jimin will give.

“Want you to fuck me,” Yoongi mutters.

“You don’t sound very excited,” Jimin says, leaning back, laughing. His dick juts out at a jaunty angle. 

“Not good at this kind of stuff,” Yoongi says, staring at his feet. 

“You keep saying that,” Jimin says, “But so far you’ve been good at everything, hyung. You’re even good at dancing.” 

He grins, and something about that bright, rakish smile sets Yoongi’s embarrassment to flight. 

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, “Well, I like to play my hand close to my chest. Can’t reveal all my superpowers.” 

Jimin snorts and leans forward to tug him up towards the bed. 

“Wait,” Yoongi says. “Wait.” He unbuttons his too-tight pants and shimmies out of them. He’s too eager; one foot gets stuck. He tumbles forward onto the bed, practically into Jimin’s lap. Jimin’s hand find his bicep, steadies him. 

“Okay,” Jimin says. “You’re okay.” He tugs Yoongi up between his knees and then one of Jimin’s hands finds Yoongi’s cheek. Jimin’s eyes find his, unblinking and bright. 

How long since someone has looked at Yoongi that way? 

Forever. Never. Nobody ever has. 

“What’s going to happen after this?” 

Jimin’s eye shut. He shudders. 

Great timing, Min Yoongi. 

He can’t help but ask. How can he give this much of himself to Jimin without knowing what comes next? 

Jimin’s eyes open. He shakes his head.

“I don’t know, hyung,” he says softly. “I don’t know.”

Yoongi shakes his head. He swallows. His jaw is tight. “Fine,” he says. “It’s fine.” He swallows. “Jimin, you’re going to be here in the morning, right?” 

Jimin leans forward, forehead pressing to Yoongi’s. Their noses brush. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says. 

It’s a lie, and Yoongi knows it’s a lie, but he can accept it, for now. “Fuck me,” he says. “Fuck me, Jimin.” 

Jimin laughs and kisses him again and obliges. 

***** 

And in the morning, Jimin is there. 

Yoongi wakes up hot and sore but intensely comfortable too. The sun is up. Jimin is still asleep, one arm thrown over Yoongi's chest, holding him in place. He makes an unhappy little noise and presses closer to Yoongi. 

Yoongi closes his eyes and opens them, and it is not a dream. They are curled up in Jimin's bed with the soft sheets and the fluffy white duvet. Jimin's nose presses into his shoulder, but even that discomfort is welcome. This is real. Last night was not a dream.

Yoongi can feel it in his thighs.

Jimin had been careful – so careful. Yoongi had admitted, red faced, that it had been a long time since he'd gotten fucked and Jimin had slowly, slowly prepped him. Then, when Yoongi was open and aching and so eager, Jimin had pressed into him and kissed him, hot and open mouthed, and it had been so good. Yoongi's legs had wrapped around Jimin's waist and he'd urged him into action with the persistent press of his heels to Jimin's back. 

It had been hot and good and fun, easy as breathing. 

How long since anything in Yoongi's life felt that good or natural? 

Is it any wonder he half expected to wake up alone, in his own little apartment, with Jungkook snoring on the couch? 

But they are not at his apartment and he is not alone. Jimin is still here with him. Last night was not a dream. 

If this is all he gets of Jimin, he'll take it. 

In a week's time, everything is going to change. 

"What are you thinking?" 

Jimin is awake, looking at him with puffy, sleepy eyes. He smiles at Yoongi.

Yoongi shakes his head. "Nothing," he says. "Next week." 

Jimin glances down. Against the white sheets, his skin is honey gold. "It's going to be fine," he says. 

Yoongi closes his eyes. "You think so?" 

Jimin nods. "I know so," he says. "It has to be, hyung."

Yoongi laughs. "That doesn't mean it's going to," he says. He closes his eyes. "Jimin... What are you going to do after this? Go back to picking pockets?" 

Jimin sits up, legs crossed, sheet pulled up over his lap. He bites his lower lip – he's nervous, Yoongi thinks. He only does that when he's nervous. 

"I haven't picked pockets in a long time," Jimin says slowly. 

Yoongi snorts. "Okay fine," he says. "Go back to scamming rich kids out of their allowance?" 

Jimin shakes his head. "I don't think so." He closes his eyes and then opens them. He brushes his hair back from his face. He looks so good right now, Yoongi thinks. So fucking beautiful. It's stupid how much Yoongi wants him. 

"I've been thinking about leaving," he says slowly. 

Yoongi's stomach turns inside out. "Leaving Seoul?" 

Jimin shakes his head. "Getting out of the country for a while. Traveling." He bites his lip again, and then reaches out and takes Yoongi's hand, squeezes it. "Hyung, come with me. Let's leave. After this is all over, let's get out of here." 

Yoongi frowns. "What are you talking about?" 

Jimin smiles at him, squeezes his hand. "Hyung, let's go. I have a friend with an apartment in Hội An. We can stay there for a while and then go wherever. Anywhere. I've always wanted to go to Istanbul. And Greece. And..." 

"Jimin," Yoongi says. His stomach is all twisted up tight now. "Jimin, I can't just go to Vietnam." 

Jimin's brows knit. His mouth hangs open. "Why not?"

"I have a _job_ ," Yoongi says. "I can't just leave." 

Jimin frowns. "You don't care about your job," he says. "Quit. Let's go. I can't stay here. Not after this. I'm burning all my bridges. I have to go." 

Yoongi closes his eyes. "I have an obligation, Jimin.”

"What obligation?" Jimin frowns. "Your chief is never going to give you the respect you deserve. Do you want to spend the rest of your life writing people parking tickets and investigating fender-benders? Taking reports about stolen bicycles?" 

Yoongi shrugs. It's true and he knows it but fuck, it's not fair. He never even wanted this, not really. He just wanted to believe, after all his illusions about his father had been shattered, that there was still such a thing as good and evil in the world. Shouldn't his sacrifice be rewarded? Don't good things come to people who sacrifice and work hard and do the _right thing_? 

Fuck, as if doing the right thing has gotten him anywhere. 

"I have an obligation–," he says, but Jimin cuts him off. 

"Come with me, hyung," he says. There is a plaintive note in his voice. "Please. I've got nothing left here. Come with me. I don't care where I end up, but I know it would be better if I ended up there with you." 

Jimin's sweet, sincere words and eager smile are nearly enough to turn Yoongi's heart. 

Nearly but not quite. Because how the fuck is this going to work? Just take off? Go to Vietnam, and then what? 

Sounds nice, Yoongi thinks. Too nice. Almost like a fairy tale. 

Things don't work out like that in real life. Not for him. He can't even imagine what it would be like to take such a risk, to reach out so aggressively towards his own happiness. It's beyond the scope of what he can believe is possible. 

But he wants it. He does. 

"I don't know," he says. "I'll think about it, Jimin." 

Some bright light in Jimin's face dims. He lets go of Yoongi's hand.

Yoongi stares up at the white ceiling. Fuck. Fuck. He's already fucked this up.

"Guess I should get home," he mutters. "Jungkook is probably wondering where I am."

He slides his legs out from under the blanket. The floors are cold. He hesitates, and then stands up. 

"Don't stare at my ass, Park Jimin," he mutters. 

There's a terrible moment of waiting and then... 

Jimin laughs. "You love it," he says. 

Yoongi humphs and pulls on his jeans. He pulls his tee shirt over his head and pats down his hair.

"Hyung," Jimin says, with a twisting note of need in his voice. 

Yoongi looks over at him. He is still sitting on the bed with his hands folded in his lap. Yoongi wants to go to him and kiss his red mouth, kiss his knobby shoulders, his dusky pink nipples. 

"You can be happy, hyung," Jimin says. "It's okay. You can decide to do the things that make you happy." 

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut. 

It has never been that simple for him. 

He pulls on his hoodie. 

"I'll call you later," he says, feeling sick again. 

"We have rehearsal later," Jimin reminds him gently. 

Fuck. He'd forgotten. They still have to keep up that ruse. 

"Come here," Yoongi says softly. 

Jimin crawls off the bed, nearly stumbling. He's all soft skin and lean muscle, tawny and perfect. Yoongi wants him so much it's almost unreal. His hand comes up to Jimin's shoulder and he kisses him. Jimin's hands find his waist, and they stay like that for a moment. No heat, really, but the memory of last night is still in Yoongi's fingertips, still thrumming under his skin. 

Jimin swallows. "Hyung," he says, one hand still on Yoongi's waist, the other reaching for Yoongi’s hand. 

But he doesn't finish the thought. 

"I'll see you later," Yoongi says, pulling away. 

Jimin nods. He squeezes Yoongi’s hand once and lets go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've gotten this far and are still with me, I'd dearly love to know what you think.


	16. Chapter 16

"I can't believe you didn't tell me earlier," Hoseok says, frowning. "Min Yoongi, what the hell?” 

"It's not his fault," Jimin says quickly. "I asked him not to tell you." 

"Sorry, Hoseok-ah," Yoongi mumbles. 

They are in Taehyung's apartment, all of them – Seokjin and Taehyung, and Namjoon and Hoseok and even Jungkook, who insisted he be allowed to come along even though Jimin told him it was better if he just not know. 

"I already know, hyung. I know everything. I know Yoongi hyung is a cop and I know you’re a con man and you’re trying to take down Director Seo because he’s an asshole and a crook,” he'd whined. "Don't leave me out." 

Jungkook’s pout was a potent weapon. Even Jimin had been unable to hold out for long. 

"And you knew too?" Hoseok rounds on Namjoon, jabbing him in the chest with a finger. "I'm wounded! I can't believe you both kept all of this from me." 

Namjoon grins sheepishly. "I only found out a few weeks ago," he says, “when they asked me to work with Taehyung. I would have said something but hyung asked me to keep it quiet." 

Hoseok huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks offended. Shit. Yoongi was just trying to do the right thing – the safe thing – and keep him in the dark as long as possible. 

That's all shot to hell now. 

Jimin met Yoongi at his apartment earlier, before they headed over here. Things are weird between them, and not weird at the same time. Jimin kissed him when he showed up, in an intimate and tender way that made Yoongi feel all weird and hot inside. 

But he hasn't brought up his proposal again. Yoongi does not know what it means that he hasn’t. 

"Sorry," Yoongi says, "Just trying to keep things on a 'need to know' basis." 

"He wouldn't even tell me," Jungkook says, piping up. "And I already knew!" 

Taehyung laughs at that and Jungkook grins, looking pleased with himself for just a moment before getting shy again. 

"Okay," Jimin says. He is leaning back against the window sill. "I'm sorry, Hoseok-ssi. We had your best interests at heart.” He does not sound very sorry. He sounds workmanlike and assured. "I asked Yoongi hyung to invite you now because I need you to do me a favor. A big favor." 

"Us," Yoongi says, frowning. " _We_ need you to do _us_ a favor." 

It takes some time, but finally they manage to fill Hoseok in on all the pieces of this puzzle. He already knew about Yoongi’s investigation, but Jimin tells his own side of the story: their original con down in Busan, and how Kwak got Seo involved. How their little scam started to grow into something not so little. How Jimin realized Yoongi wasn’t what he seemed. His growing distress, and finally turning to Yoongi for help bringing Seo down. 

Seokjin tries to beg off when Jimin introduces him, but really, this whole thing would have been a bust if not for his efforts. Taehyung plays Hoseok the video clip he and Namjoon made. It's impressive honestly. Really good work. He shows the app they created to ensnare Seo, the personalized portal where eager fangirls can to chat with their beloved idols. He shows how easy it was to get Seo to click a link that installed a nearly undetectable keystroke tracker on his computer. 

"I have it all now," Taehyung says, leaning back in his chair. "Passwords for everything. Just waiting for Jimin's say-so before I log on, mosey on over to his bank account, and clean him out." 

He makes a finger gun and blows imaginary smoke from it.

Hoseok's eyes are wide and his mouth is hanging open. 

"Jesus," he says. "Yoongi hyung, you've done a lot of crazy shit, but this is the craziest." 

"Tell me something I don't fucking know," Yoongi mutters. 

"I’ve been recording the practice sessions,” Jimin says, trying to keep things on track. “On a phone, so the quality isn’t great, but I have hours of footage – hundreds of hours, honestly. I’ve watched some of it. I’m – _we’re_ wondering if you can do something with it.” 

Hoseok frowns. “What kind of something? It sounds like you all have this well in hand, Jimin-ssi.” 

“Yoongi says you work in media," Jimin says. "I want you to make a video about Golden Calf. I want you to show the world how hard these kids work, how much they give up, how little they get in return. This city is full of idiots who think they can make a quick buck by profiting on the dreams of kids like Jungkook. I want this video everywhere. Hoseok, you're going to help us take them _all_ down.” 

There is a moment of silence. Hoseok look a little stunned. Then Seokjin ruins the moment by applauding. 

"Oh, that was very good!" he says, laughing. "I taught you well, Jimin-ah." 

Jimin ducks his head, cheeks going a little red. 

Hoseok nods. "Okay," he says slowly. "Yeah. I mean, I’ll need to take a look at what you have first, but I think I could do something like that." He frowns, then. "But what about Seo?" 

"Seo is a monster," Jimin says, "But leave him to us. He'll get what's coming to him." 

Yoongi thinks of those men in those sleek dark suits, who had been so kind and polite and so _cold_. Yes. Seo will get his due. 

***** 

"Did you remember the radish this time? Because last time... Oh. Hi." 

It's not Jimin. 

Yoongi has stayed at Jimin’s apartment almost every night since that first night. He and Jimin devour each other in the dark, and it is as good and as hot and as brilliant as anything Yoongi has ever known, but in the morning, they don't talk about the fact that less than a week things have to change. Yoongi has not yet found an answer to Jimin's request, but he keeps coming back regardless, and that is its own answer. 

"Oh, Yoongi-ssi," Seokjin says, smiling in the offensively handsome way he does. "Is Jimin at home?" 

"He ran out," Yoongi mutters. “Should be back soon."

"Ah," Seokjin says, nodding. "Can I come in? I was hoping to talk to you too, actually." 

Yoongi frowns. It occurs to him that, in spite all that's gone on, he still doesn't really know Seokjin very well, has never said more than a few words to him directly. He is still a stranger, albeit a stranger that Yoongi trusts, at Jimin's insistence. 

"Uh, sure," Yoongi says, stepping aside 

Seokjin, smiling, says, "I can’t stay long, but if I miss him I can always catch up with Jimin later." 

Seokjin breezes past Yoongi and takes a seat on Jimin's big white couch. He looks fresh and at ease, wearing a thick sweater and turtleneck and rather unstylish jeans. Maybe if you’re handsome enough, you don't need to worry about wearing fashionable clothes. Yoongi, disgruntled and in his pajamas, sits in the armchair. 

"Can I get you something to drink?" 

Yoongi feels weird playing the role of host, but he knows he should be polite for Jimin’s sake if nothing else. 

"I'm fine," Seokjin says, smiling. "So. You and Jimin." 

"Uh," Yoongi says. He's all thick-tongued today, and ill at ease. 

"It's okay," Seokjin says, laughing. "I knew from the minute I saw the two of you together." 

Yoongi frowns. "We weren't, then. It's kind of a new thing." 

"Ah," Seokjin says. "Are you sure?" 

"I'm pretty fucking sure," Yoongi says, narrowing his eyes. "I think I'd remember the first time we --" 

Seokjin laughs. "I don't doubt it, Yoongi-ssi," he says, smiling. "But even then, I saw something between the two of you." 

Yoongi quiets. Well. Maybe he had. How the hell is Yoongi supposed know?

"Did Jimin tell you how I met him?" 

Yoongi nods. 

Seokjin sighs. "I tried to blow him off, but I don't think I've ever met anyone as determined as Park Jimin." 

Yoongi chuckles. Yeah. That sounds right. 

"We worked together for three years," Seokjin says. There’s a fond look in his eyes, like he's really not talking to Yoongi at all, like he’s remembering some simpler, distant time. "I tried to keep him on the sidelines, picking pockets and doing small time shit that wouldn't get him in too much trouble if he got caught." He shakes his head. "I told him to go home to his mom and dad once a week. More, maybe." 

"He says he's going to give them this apartment," Yoongi blurts out, and then regrets it. He doesn't know if that's his secret to share. 

Seokjin looks a little startled. "Is Jimin talking to his parents?" 

Yoongi shakes his head. "No," he says. "Just... some day." 

Seokjin sighs. “I didn’t think so,” he says sadly. "Yoongi-ssi, can you do me a favor?" 

Yoongi can't think of a thing in the world that he could do for Seokjin that he couldn't manage better on his own, but he agrees. "Okay," he says lightly. “Sure.”

Shouldn't Jimin be back with that damn chicken by now? 

"Take care of him for me, will you?" 

"Who?" Yoongi frowns. 

"Jimin, Yoongi-ssi," Seokjin says, laughing. "Take care of Jimin for me. He's very capable, but he's not as hard-hearted as he seems." 

Yoongi thinks of Jimin in bed, in those cozy post-coital moments. Tired eyes, soft lips, sweet, goofy laugh. The way he clings to Yoongi, sometimes, when they are very close to sleep, fingers twining into Yoongi's shirt, desperate and fierce. 

"No," Yoongi agrees quietly. "No, he's not." 

Seokjin clears his throat. Starts again. "I care about Jimin very much, Yoongi-ssi. I love him like a brother. He is so smart, and so caring, and so loyal. I've never met anyone as loyal as Park Jimin." 

There is a strange silence. Not as awkward as Yoongi would have thought, but very empty, until Seokjin glances down at his phone and signs. “It’s time for me to get going, Yoongi-ssi. My neighbor can’t watch Jjanggu any longer, and the people of Gangneung need their seafood soondubujjigae. My bus leaves in an hour.” 

Yoongi laughs. “You’re taking a bus?” 

Seokjin looks blank. “Sure,” he says. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

Yoongi snorts. He knows Seokjin is loaded. Jimin has said as much. 

Seokjin gets to his feet. “Jacob Kim has to leave the country unexpectedly for business. Tell Jimin I’ll be in touch,” he says. He holds out his hand. “It’s been a pleasure, Yoongi-ssi.” 

Yoongi shakes Seokjin’s hand. His palm is calloused and cool. 

“You know,” Seokjin says, pausing by the door. “There’s a reason Jimin was never as good as I was.” 

This would sound like bragging, but Seokjin’s tone is a bit sad, a bit humble. “I have to force myself to care,” Seokjin says. “Jimin – he cares too much. About everyone, but especially about the people he loves. I don’t know which kind of person you are, Yoongi-ssi, but take care of him for me, okay?” 

Yoongi nods. There is a lump in his throat. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

*****

“I didn’t forget the radishes this time,” Jimin says triumphantly, taking the little plastic cup out of the paper bag. He grins, but then he sees Yoongi's face and frowns. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Yoongi says. "Seokjin stopped by." 

"Oh," Jimin's eyes go wide. "He did?" 

"He's leaving," Yoongi says. "Going home." 

Jimin nods slowly. "I figured he would leave soon." He closes his eyes slowly, like he's fighting back some old pain -- old, but still sharp. 

"He said he'd call you," Yoongi says. "He had a bus to catch." 

Jimin snorts. "Of course," he says, fondly. "Seokjin hyung has always been very frugal."

"He cares about you a lot," Yoongi says, gently. 

"I know that," Jimin says, a little too sharply. "Of course I know that. Hyung, do you realize how dangerous it was for him to come here and help us?" 

Yoongi shakes his head. He doesn't know. 

Jimin takes the cardboard container of chicken out of the bag and sets it on the table. "There are men in Seoul who would pay billions for Seokjin's head," he says quietly. "He has a lot of enemies. He took the risk for _me_ , hyung." 

"He loves you," Yoongi says. 

Jimin nods, but he doesn't look very happy. 

"Park Jimin," Yoongi says. "There are a lot of people who love you." 

Jimin looks up. Dead, flat eyes and amused smirk. Yoongi has seen that expression before but not in a while. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes. "There are two, at least, is what I'm trying to say," he mumbles, unwrapping one of the little rolls of napkin and utensil the restaurant provided. 

Jimin's expression softens. He smiles, and exhales slowly 

That is still not an answer to the question Jimin asked, but it is something. More. As much as Yoongi can give, right now. 

"You want a beer?" Jimin asks. 

"Yeah," Yoongi says. "Sure." 

Jimin gets two beers from the fridge and opens then, and Yoongi sets the rest of the food on the coffee table. They eat with plates on their knees, not really talking much, but silence is comfortable. Companionable. Nice, really. This is nice, Yoongi thinks. He could have this -- or not this, exactly, but something. Dinners with Jimin, and lunches, and breakfasts. Days and months and years. 

"Pass the slaw," Jimin says, mouth full. 

Yoongi passes him the styrofoam container. Their fingers brush. Jimin look up and smiles at him. There's a crumb of something clinging to his bottom lip.

"You've got --" Yoongi gestures at his own mouth. 

"Oh," Jimin says, brushing at his mouth with a napkin. 

"Got it," Yoongi says. 

"Thanks, hyung," Jimin says, and he smiles again, and Yoongi's heart clenches in some terrible, keen, wonderful way.

He knows what kind of person he is. He's tried to harden himself, but he loves too readily, too. He always has.

*****

Three days. They have three days. They’ve been at the Golden Calf offices since before dawn. Jimin brought coffee for everyone. They have been rehearsing for hours, and the kids are wilting. Even Jungkook looks spent. He is sitting in the corner now, head nodding, chin nearly touching his chest. The excitement of everything that’s going on is too much for him. He hasn’t been sleeping well. Yoongi’s bad habits are wearing off on him. 

They’re taking a rest now because Yoongi, old fuck that he is, has done something to his left hip. Pain shoots down his leg every time he takes a step, like the joint doesn’t fit together right anymore. It’s not so bad he can’t dance through it, but Jimin saw him wincing and called a break. 

Jimin, crouching by his side, asks, “Are you okay?” 

Yoongi shrugs. He doesn’t know that it matters. 

“I’m fine,” he says. 

“You’re not,” Jimin says, stubborn. “Hyung… go home. Just go home and rest. I’ll make some excuse if Kwak stops by.” 

“No way,” Yoongi says. “You think I’m going to bail now? I’m _fine_.” 

Jimin frowns at him, mulish, like he’s not willing to concede. 

“I’m fine,” Yoongi says. “Honestly. I’ve dealt with much worse than this. I just need some aspirin or something.” 

He gets to his feet, gritting his teeth so he doesn’t wince and set Jimin off again.

“Here,” Jimin says. “There’s some in the closet.” 

Yoongi walks over to the closet, ignoring the throb that accompanies each step. There is a bottle of aspirin on one of the shelves. He opens the bottle and shakes two out into his palm. He’s about to swallow them dry when Jimin hands him a bottle of water. 

He takes it and downs the pills. 

He can get through this. If he survived three years working under Superintendent Shim – if he survived finding out the truth about his father – he can get through this. Physical discomfort is nothing. He can get through it. 

Maybe that confidence does not translate on his face. He doesn’t know. Jimin watches him with a tender, worried expression. 

“Three more days,” he says. 

“Yeah,” Yoongi says. “Yeah.” 

Jimin reaches for his hand and squeezes it quickly, and then lets go before anyone can see. 

Yoongi still hasn’t given him an answer.

Three days. Fuck. 

***** 

The paper sits in the middle of Shim's desk, like a single leaf floating in the middle of a dark lake. Across the top in bold letters: Referral for Disciplinary Action. 

Beneath that, Yoongi's name and badge number. 

"Sit," Shim says. 

He looks bad. Red faced and coarse skinned, like he hasn't been getting enough sleep. His eyes are bloodshot. 

Yoongi sits. 

Shim stares at him with those watery, bloodshot eyes. Yoongi stares back.

"What did you think you were going to accomplish?" Shim asks, after a moment. 

Yoongi doesn't immediately know what he means and says so. 

Shim snorts. His nostrils flair. He lays his hands flat on his desk. Outside, snow is falling. The morning is all shrouded and pale. 

"You disobeyed me," Shim says. He is calm. Too calm. It's an act, Yoongi can see. He's holding himself back, keeping it all, but his anger is straining at his bounds. His hands tremble. His teeth clench. 

"I was trying to –" 

"Shut UP," Shim says. "Shut up." Teeth bared, he leans forward. He is a big man – much bigger than Yoongi – and although he is old he is still strong. But Yoongi doesn't flinch.

"Minjoon tells me you’ve been ignoring my phone calls. You’ve missed our last three little check-ins, Officer Min," Shim says again, slowly but with rising anger. “You have been avoiding me. _Deliberately_ disobeying direct orders.” 

"Yesterday my request for an arrest warrant for Kwak Youngwon was granted," Yoongi says. He struggles to keep his voice steady. His fingers dig into his thighs. "I plan to execute the warrant in two days, when Kwak will be present at Jangchung Gymnasium at seven o'clock in the evening." 

Shim snorts. He takes a sheath of papers from his cabinet and slides them roughly across the desk to Yoongi. They aren't bound. Papers flutter to the floor. Yoongi reaches down to pick them all up. He restacks them. They are all out of order now, some upside-down, but it doesn't matter. Yoongi knows what they are. It's the paperwork he submitted a few days ago, requesting the warrant for Kwak's arrest. 

"You‘ve known about Kwak Youngwon for months," he says. "Months, Officer Min. You could have ended this months ago, but you didn't." 

Yoongi doesn't say anything. 

"Deny it," Shim hisses. "Deny it, Officer Min." 

Yoongi exhales. "No," he says. "No, Sir. I was trying to–" 

Shim's eyes go wide for a moment, and then he slams a massive, balled fist onto his desk. 

"Be quiet, you little worm," Shim says. "Shut your mouth. That's the problem with you, you know. That's the problem with all of you. You don't know how to just shut up when your _betters_ are trying to talk to you." 

Yoongi swallows. He is shaking, and his heart is pounding in his ears. He feels lightheaded. Delirious. He wants to put his fist into Shim's fat, red face. He wants to fucking scream. But he doesn't. He can salvage this. He can do it. After all he's given up, what's a little more debasement? 

"You had actionable information weeks ago, and you did nothing," Shim says slowly. He stands and turns so he's facing the window. Outside, the snow is still falling. White. Everywhere white. The soft even blanket of snow covers all the dirt and grime and cars and color and... all of it. There's just nothing left. 

"I told you," Shim says slowly, "that we were investigating this case only because it was referred to the Gwangjin Bureau by City Hall. I may not have spelled it out in so many words, Officer Min, but I thought you were smart enough to understand that meant that I expected this to be an open and shut case." 

Yoongi says nothing. Of course he knew that.

"You wanted to play the hero, though, didn't you?" Shim says. He turns to face Yoongi again. "Didn't you?" 

Yoongi says nothing. What can he say? He knew what Shim wanted, and he didn't do it. He’s not even sure why. Because he wanted to do the _right thing_ , and not just the easy thing. Because he wanted to know the truth.

Because he wanted to help Jimin. 

Yes. That’s why. That’s the reason at the heart of it.

"I'm referring you for disciplinary action," Shim says.

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut. Fuck. He feels like he can’t breathe.

"What about the case?" 

Shim snorts. "You are removed from the case, effective immediately," he says. "Officer Lee will take over. He will execute the arrest warrant. I expect you to meet with him and provide him with all the information he needs to make this a success." 

Yoongi's blood runs cold. He didn't mention Jimin in the document he submitted – not once – but Kwak will surely talk once he's in custody. 

"I've spent months on this case! I've –" 

"You've spent months _pursuing your own agenda_." Shim's voice is harsh. He speaks too loudly, takes up too much space. Yoongi is always wary of men like this. "I don't know exactly what you're planning, but I know you've got something up your sleeve, Min. I want you to forget it. I'm sending your file to Internal Investigations this afternoon and requesting they transfer you. You should be lucky I don't ask for your badge." 

Yoongi's skin prickles. He takes a deep breath. "Sir," he says. "Sir. I need to go to rehearsal tomorrow. Kwak will be tipped off if I –" 

"Tell them you're sick," Shim roars. "Tell them you broke your fucking leg. I don't care what the hell you tell them, Officer Min, but I don't want you anywhere fucking near that concert hall. Do you understand me?" He glowers at Yoongi, but Yoongi does not look away. 

"I understand you, sir," Yoongi says, finally. 

"Good," Shim says. "You've made another mess for yourself, Officer Min. Maybe one day you'll realize that you're not that smart and you're not that good and you're never going to amount to fucking anything."

Yoongi closes his eyes against a wave of nausea and disorientation. He feels like he's going to throw up. He wants to fucking punch Shim in the face. He wants to cry. He wishes there were one single person in this sick fucking world on his side. 

There is, though. 

Jimin is on his side.

And now, because of him, Jimin is going to get fucked over. 

He needs to think of something to tell Lee, some excuse for Jimin's involvement in all of this. 

He needs to tell Jimin to get the fuck out of the country sooner rather than later. 

"Get out of my sight," Shim says. "Go find Lee and bring him up to speed. You're dismissed." 

Trembling, full of rage, Yoongi stands up. He bows low to Shim, and then steps out of the office. 

Minjoon, at the reception desk, gives him a worried look, but Yoongi doesn't have time for pity. The whole station probably heard with how loud Shim was yelling. He heads to his desk and grabs his bag, and before he even realizes what he's doing he's running, out through the lobby, out into the swirling, dense snow. 

***** 

The hinges creak when Yoongi pushes the door open. Dirty melted snow water pools on the tile floor. 

Damnit. For as much as he's paying, they ought to keep this place in better repair. 

"Hey, old man," he says, dropping to his knees in front of his father's mortuary niche. 

There had been no arrangements in place when his father died. He left no record of his wishes; maybe he thought he would live forever. His mother had opted for cremation, the cheapest option. She's kept the ashes in a simple black urn and brought them with her to the apartment after the house was sold. When she passed away, Yoongi had expected his brother to take care of things, but his anger still smoldered too hot. 

"I don't give a fuck what happens to them, Yoongi-ya," he'd said, fists clenched, eyes bright. "Throw them in the fucking trash for all I care. That's where they belong." 

They have not spoken since that evening. Maybe his brother is still so angry. He has a right to be. Yoongi doesn't know.

Yoongi took his parents' remains home to his apartment, and now pays a monthly fee for two niches in a modest columbarium outside of the city. It's not a fancy place, no Skycastle Memorial Park, with manicured lawns and well-lit marble interiors. The squat grey building sits at the end of a little walk, surrounded by some unlovely trees. Inside, it is freezing in the winter and hot in the summer, and always damp. The stink of incense hangs in the air. 

Yoongi had gone for the cheapest option – two small ground level niches next to one another. They still set him back a few hundred thousand won a month. He doesn't know if it's worth it. He just thought it was the right thing to do. 

Yoongi is here now because he had not known where else to go. 

Jungkook is at his apartment. He’s such a good kid, and he’s already been through so much. Yoongi doesn't want to bring him down. Yoongi’s friends – few that they are – have their own worries. They don't deserve to be burdened with his bullshit. Fuck. Yoongi’s already put Namjoon and Hoseok in enough danger, involving them like he has. He had burst out of the front doors of Gwangjin Station and on to the street, full of hot rage. Snow was falling, and night was coming fast, but a fancy had taken him. He'd gone back to his apartment and gotten his car and driven through the bad weather out to the suburbs. He doesn't visit often – two or three times a year maybe – but it's a trip he is familiar with. He parked the car in the empty lot and walked through the mounting snow to the cold, empty abode of ghosts. 

"I fucked up, dad," he says. His voice echoes strangely. The florescent lights do a bad job of pushing back the strange evening gloom. "I fucked everything up." 

There is no response. Of course there’s no fucking response.

Tears come, unbidden. 

He breathes in. The cold air burns his sinuses. He shakes himself to steady his nerves. He opens his bag and takes out a bunch of flowers, which he puts in front of his mother's niche. 

"Didn't bring anything for you, asshole," he says, turning to his father. "Sorry – oh wait." 

He fumbles in his backpack again. Down at the bottom, there's a crumpled pack of Raisons, half empty. He hasn't smoked one in weeks. 

"Guess I finally quit," he mumbles. "So I guess this wasn't all a loss." He chuckles. "Just... just everything else." 

He places the pack of cigarettes in his father's niche, in front of a picture of the four of them – Yoongi and his hyung, his mother and his father, all happy and smiling, dressed in their best clothes. Yoongi can't remember the occasion now, but he likes the picture, which is why he put it here. They look almost like a happy family. 

"Shim is reporting me to Internal Investigations," Yoongi says. "I don't know how much he knows yet, but I don't see how this ends without me losing my badge." 

He's done wrong. He knows it. He's conspired with criminal elements and trespassed and hidden evidence and – 

He deserves what is coming to him. He deserves it all. 

"I could go apologize," Yoongi says. "Go beg forgiveness. If I went down on my fucking knees in front of Shim and begged, maybe he'd give me a second chance." 

And then what? He goes back to being the Gwangjin Station grunt? Oh god. Yoongi can see it. Twenty years on, still living in his shitty little apartment, pushing paper in the back office of the police station. A small life, dedicated to the blind pursuit of order and what’s right. A shrinking life, diminishing. Vanishing into nothing. 

"Don't want that," he mumbles. "I never fucking wanted that. I just wanted..." He breathes in, chest heaving. "I just wanted the world to make sense. Fuck. I loved you so much, you fucking asshole.”

He is crying now, hot tears that spill down his cheeks. It's disgusting. He is ashamed. He wipes his eyes with his sleeve, but the tears keep coming. 

"Don't even know what I want now," Yoongi says, throat thick.

That isn't true. Not totally. 

He wants Jimin. He _loves_ Jimin. 

"At least you died before you could give me shit about that, too," Yoongi says in a thick voice. "I love him though. Fuck. I love him more than I've ever loved anything in my entire life." 

It's a lie. Yoongi loved his father more than he can possibly say, with a brilliant childish intensity that no mature love can equal. 

But it’s really not the same thing. 

"Think he loves me too, the idiot. He asked me to go with him, you know? What do you think, old man? Should I do it?" 

There is no response but the wind whistling outside the cracked door. 

"You always were shitty with advice," Yoongi mutters. "Fuck. When you used to sit us down and give us one of those big talks about how we should live our lives, what we should do to be successful – I was never like hyung. I always hated that shit. Don't even know how you got through it with a straight face, you goddamn fake." 

In those black months after his father's death, when his mother was already succumbing to the grief that killed her, and his brother was rarely home, everything had been anger and sorrow. He remembers sitting at his mother's side the evening the loan sharks came. Just a few days after the funeral, and they were already snapping their jaws, drawn by the scent of blood. They didn't care about his mother's grief. They didn't care about Yoongi's anger. His father had borrowed, and now the debt was coming due. 

Yoongi – who had never felt good enough, never smart enough – hated his father so much then. Hated him with a passion only rivaled by how much he loved him. He hadn’t understood it at all. All those lies his father told, all those fake dreams he dreamed up for his precious sons. What had been the point?

He’d been trying to be a good man. 

Yoongi understand now. Ten years on and it hurts like hell. It always will. But he understands. 

“You wanted to make things good for us,” Yoongi says. He swallows. His eyes sting. “I still have those goddamn Nikes you got me when I was fourteen. I threw almost everything else out, but those stupid shoes – I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of them. I wanted them _so bad_.” He laughs. “You knew that though, didn’t you, old man? That’s why you did what you did.” 

Yeah. He gets it. It makes sense to him now in a way it never could have at eighteen. It makes sense to him now in a way it wouldn’t have six months ago. 

The world is fucked, and everyone is just trying to get by and protect the people they love. 

His father had wanted good things for them – the best – and he’d provided the only way he’d known how. Not the right way. Not a smart way, certainly, and with little thought for what would happen when he was gone. But he’d tried to be a good father. He’d wanted to make things good for them more than anything in the world.

That’s why Yoongi loved him so goddamn much. That’s why he still does.

If he goes back to Inspector Shim tomorrow and makes the proper obsequies noises, Shim will cancel the referral to Internal Investigations. Yoongi can grovel and flatter with the best of them. If he goes back and tells all he knows – _everything_ – he might be able to get out of this with his badge. And then what? 

Twenty years of nothing, until he's just an empty shell. 

There’s that, and then there is Jimin, who has waited with the patience of a fucking saint for Yoongi’s answer.

Jimin, who has done awful things, and who has been hurt so badly. Who is so much braver and kinder than he pretends to be. 

Jimin, who he loves better than he has ever loved anyone. Not with that childish intensity he’d felt for his father, no, but with greater appreciation and more understanding and a thousand times more respect. Something tentative but real, kindled somehow in the middle of all this mess. 

Yoongi gets to his feet. He groans. The cold has seeped into his bones, and they ache. In a little cabinet to the rear of the room, there are sticks of incense. He gets one out and puts it in the provided holder. His cold fingers fumble with the lighter, but he gets a flame finally and holds it to the incense. It catches, and then Yoongi blows it out. The dancing smoke rises. The funereal stink fills the air. He walks back over to his parents’ niche. He remembers the funerals – bowing and bowing and bowing, all the blood rushing to his head. 

He sinks to his knees again and bows now, head to the cold dirty tile. One last time. Then he gets up and wipes his hands on his pants. 

“See you around, old man,” he whispers. “Thanks for everything.” 

Outside, snow is still falling. The sky is full of dizzying motion. He takes out his phone. 

It rings three times before Jimin picks up. 

"Hyung?" 

"Hey," Yoongi says. "Jimin." 

"Hyung, what's going on?" He sounds tired. Maybe he'd been asleep. It's not late, but Jimin doesn't sleep well and Yoongi knows he naps sometimes. 

"Jimin," Yoongi says. "I'll do it." 

"What? Hyung, what are you talking about?" 

"I'll go with you," Yoongi says. "When this is over I want to with you. Wherever. Anywhere. I’ll go." 

There's silence on the other end of the line. 

"Really?" Jimin asks, and his voice sounds so small, smaller and younger than Yoongi has ever heard it. 

"Fuck," Yoongi says. "Yes. I'm going to quit. I'm going to hand in my badge tomorrow. I'm done with this. I don't care anymore." 

"Really?" Jimin asks again in that strange small voice. 

"Yes," Yoongi says. "I want to go with you. I love you, Jimin." 

"Are you outside right now? Where are you?" Jimin sounds slightly hysterical. "Hyung, where are you?" 

"What? Why, Jimin?" Yoongi swallows. What now? What else could there be?

"Because I love you too, you idiot," Jimin says.

Yoongi laughs. “I’m in Guri,” he says. 

“What? What are you doing out there? Yoongi, what’s going on?” 

“Just saying goodbye to someone,” Yoongi says. “Go back to sleep, Jimin. I’ll come to you.” 

***** 

Yoongi wakes up the next morning in Jimin's wide bed with Jimin's arms wrapped around him. The snow has stopped falling. It is very early still, but he quietly disentangles himself from Jimin and gets out of bed. 

He takes a long, hot shower and then borrows some of Jimin’s clothes. His own are still damp from the snow. 

Jimin doesn't stir. They were up late last night. Yoongi doesn't want to disturb him, so he leaves a note on the back of an envelope. This will not take long. 

He heads out into the bright morning. The sun is a flat white disk in the pale sky. The streets are clear, but the wind kicks up a curtain of glitter that hangs in the air, shimmering. He feels better this morning. He feels okay, anyway. He had driven fast back to Seoul last night, right through the heart of the city and out the other side, all the way to Jimin’s apartment. He’d stood shivering while he waited for Jimin to buzz him up. The snow still fell. The night was wreathed in light. 

The door had unlocked and Yoongi had taken the elevator up. Jimin had been waiting for him with the door open. Once they were safely inside his apartment, Jimin had wrapped his arms around Yoongi and said, "Thank you."

But it is Yoongi who feels thankful. Fuck. He never imagined he could love anyone the way he loves Jimin. He feels sick with it. Stupid and delighted. 

But this morning he has to go on his own, bolstered only by the knowledge that Jimin is sleeping safe in his bed. 

The train is not very full and he gets a seat. He stares at the dirty, salt-crusted floor. The city is still shaking off its snowy sleep. 

He is at the Gwangjin stop too soon. He has a worried message from Jungkook, and he takes a moment to reply. 

_Stayed at Jimin's. I'm fine. Don't do anything stupid while I'm not home._

Jungkook's reply comes quickly. _ㅋㅋㅋ very romantic see u later hyung_

Kid's gotten bold, Yoongi thinks. Little punk. 

He knows the route to the station so well, but this morning everything looks different. He can't say if it's the snow, or if it's just the knowledge that this is very likely the last time he'll ever make this trip. 

So long, suckers. So long, Shim, you fucking asshole. 

Still, maybe it's just the faded winter light, but he feels suddenly all soaked in some vague sadness. He doesn’t regret what he's about to do, but he regrets, maybe, that things didn't happen differently. In a different life, he would have served long and proudly as an officer of the Seoul Metropolitan Police Force. 

Not now. Not this time. 

He uses his ID card to get into the building. The door is locked this early. Hardly anyone is in yet. Yungsoo is not at his desk, and neither is Minjoon. Yesterday's flowers wilt in their vase. 

Shim's door is shut, but he'll be in his office. He gets in earlier than anyone, as if just to prove point. 

This is all he's got, Yoongi thinks. This station. This pathetic little kingdom. 

Yoongi will leave it to him. He takes a breath to steel himself and then knocks softly on Shim's door. 

A moment passes and then the Superintendent calls out for him to enter. 

Yoongi opens the door gently. 

Shim is sitting at his desk. The blinds are down, against the bleached winter sunlight. Shim has a paper napkin tucked into his collar. A half-eaten egg toast sits on his desk. 

"Officer Min," Shim says tiredly. "You never met with Officer Lee yesterday." 

Yoongi shakes his head.

Shim narrows regards Yoongi calmly. His anger is absent this morning, replaced by smug superiority. Ruler of all he surveys.

Asshole. 

"What are you doing here, Officer Min?" 

Yoongi breathes in. He takes his badge and his ID card from his pocket. The metal is cold against his palm. Goddamn it. He worked so hard for this, even if it wasn't something he ever really wanted. It hurts to relinquish it now. 

But there is nothing left for him here.

He drops them on Shim's desk. The badge bounces, leaving a faint scratch in the smooth black surface before it spins to a stop.

Shim chuckles as he looks down at Yoongi's badge and ID. "What's this?" 

"I'm done," Yoongi says.

"What?" Shim's ugly caterpillar eyebrows knit together. 

"I quit," Yoongi says. 

Shim leans back in his chair. He laughs, baring all his big yellow teeth. He laughs so hard that his face turns red, so hard that that vein in his forehead pulses. 

Finally, wiping his eyes, he manages to get ahold of himself. 

"You quit?" Shim asks. 

Yoongi nods. "Yeah," he says. "I'm done." 

Shim snorts. His big nostrils flair. "You _give up_." 

Anger sparks up Yoongi's spine. White hot behind his eyes. Pin-pricks on the back of his hands. Asshole. God he's such a fucking asshole. 

"No," Yoongi says. "I quit." 

Shim blinks those ugly little eyes of his. "I had you pegged as a quitter from the day you first skulked in here, you know," he says. "I could tell the second I saw you that you weren't any _hero_." 

He makes the word sound like the worst profanity. 

"I wasn't trying to be a hero," Yoongi says. "I just wanted to do the right thing." 

Shim laughs again, like this is the funniest thing he's ever heard. "Oh, Officer Min – or Yoongi-ssi, I should say," he says. "You poor fool. How did you get this far without realizing there is no _right thing_?" 

Shim holds his gaze for a moment, like he's goading Yoongi on to some further provocation, but Yoongi won't give him that satisfaction. He just wants to be gone. 

"If you're there when we execute the warrant," Shim says slowly, "I will give Officer Lee permission to arrest you along with all of your little friends." His eyes narrow again. "I don't know what kind of mess you made of this, but I know there's something you aren't telling me. I will find it out." 

Yoongi swallows but the anger bubbles up, stinging his throat, making his chest go tight. "Fuck you," he says, and then he turns and struggles with the doorknob for a moment before he opens the door and goes. 

He can hear Shim laughing through the closed door, loud and raucous, like he's just heard some great joke. 

Yoongi's hands are shaking.

He stops at his desk, looks at last year's free promotional calendar he has hanging there, at his collection of pens and paper clips, at the tiny picture of his family he has thumbtacked by his computer – the only evidence of any personality at all in this bland little cubicle. 

He takes down the picture and sticks it in his wallet. Nothing else is worth taking. 

Outside, in the bright chill morning, he takes out his phone. He has a missed call from Jimin. He walks a few blocks down – wouldn't do to run into anyone he knows right now – and calls him back. 

"Hey," he says. His breath rises up in a cloud. 

"Where are you?" Jimin asks, urgently. 

"I did it," Yoongi says. 

"What?" Jimin says. 

"I quit, Jimin," Yoongi says. "I'm done. I turned in my badge." 

Jimin is quiet for a moment. "Hyung," he says softly. "I'm sorry." 

Yoongi swallows. "It's okay," he says, more to convince himself than anything. "Hey, it's okay. I'm done, and I'm free, and I'm coming with you, Jimin." 

Jimin, voice thick, says, "I'm..." He clears his throat. "Thank you, Yoongi. Really." 

"Don't thank me yet," Yoongi mutters. "We still have to pull this off, right?" 

"Yeah," Jimin says. "Yeah. Two days." 

Two days, and then they’re free.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember those warnings for gun violence and minor character death? YEAH.

"Woah!" Wonjae says. "This is freaking awesome." 

"Tomorrow we're going to be _idols_ ," says Hyungjoon, sounding like he can hardly believe it. 

Byungchul puffs out his chest. "I bet this place is going to be packed." 

Their excited voices echo in the big, empty gymnasium. 

It is the day before Island Boys are to have their debut showcase, and they are here to rehearse. 

Of the kids, only Jungkook is quiet. His eyes are still bright – the excitement is catching – but he alone knows what's going on. He knows, despite Jimin and Yoongi's best efforts to keep him in the dark, what's going to happen tomorrow.

They're doing this for him – in a way, at least – and yet Yoongi still feels like he’s crushing the poor kid's dreams underfoot.

"Come on kids," Yoongi says. "Let's go. Jimin isn't going to pass up one more chance to make us suffer." 

Jimin frowns. "I just want everything to be perfect for tomorrow," he says. "We have to do our best." 

They cannot afford to do less with this much at stake. 

They pass men at work setting up sound equipment and lights. Another group hangs a big banner with the Island Boys logo printed on it –- goofy stylized skull wearing a pirate hat. It doesn't look _bad_ , exactly, but the production level is on par with some high school talent show.

Maybe the kids don't realize. Maybe for these kids the promise of fame gilds the shabby banner and goofy costumes. Maybe that promise makes even Heave Ho! sound like a potential hit. Yoongi doesn't know. He has never had the benefit of those illusions 

They go backstage to change. The kids talking too loudly, and it takes Jimin some time to round them up and get them herded. There are no signs of Kwak or Seo. If Jimin knows anything of their whereabouts, he isn't talking. 

It hits Yoongi when he steps out of the wings and onto the stage. The empty seats seem at great remove from here, and the stage lights are too bright. In twenty-four hours, Island Boys will step onto the stage to perform their hit title track for the first time – and only – time. 

In twenty-four hours, this will all be over, one way or another. 

Jimin chats with the audio engineer for a moment while the kids stretch. Yoongi's anger from this morning is spent, but in its place is a cold, empty weariness. He closes his eyes and leans into the ache in his hip. Damn tight hamstrings. He's not built for this stuff. Creakily he gets to his feet. Jungkook is crouching at the edge of the stage, staring out at that expanse of empty seats. 

Yoongi leaves him alone.

Everyone needs to find their own path out of pain and disappointment. Fuck knows Yoongi's no kind of guide. 

Jimin finishes whatever he needs to do with the engineer and calls them to order with a sharp clap. 

"Come on, guys," he says. "Let's make it count this time." 

Radiating excitement, the kids line up. They all know their places now. The track starts and almost like clockwork, they start to move. 

They practice for a few hours. The schedule for tomorrow (drawn up by Jimin and Yoongi on the back of an envelope in Yoongi's apartment a few days ago) is for them to start their illustrious careers with an explosive performance of Heave Ho! followed by the B-side track Sunshining. Next the members will introduce themselves and then there will be an opportunity for the press to ask questions and take pictures.

The plan is for Yoongi and Jimin to make a quick exit when the lights go down. Hopefully – if anyone in the entire fucking universe has even the slightest bit of pity for Yoongi – Officer Lee will wait until then to execute his warrant. 

If not, maybe Yoongi will be suddenly blessed with some skill for talking his way out of very difficult situations. 

Or maybe Jimin will take care of that. Jimin has already taken care of so much. 

Yoongi glances over at him now as they rest between songs. Jimin is pale and nervous. He's so good at keeping that hidden, but Yoongi can see it. He can read it in the downturned corners of Jimin's mouth and the dark circles under his eyes. 

He doesn't need to read those signs though, because last night, before they slept, Jimin had rested his head on Yoongi's chest and told him in a quiet voice how nervous he was, how unsure that things would go right, how afraid he was that this fragile plan would go up in smoke and flames. 

Yoongi is afraid too, but he'd whispered consoling nothings and put his hand on Jimin's back, right between his shoulder blades, and kept it there until a little of Jimin's tension had eased and he'd fallen asleep. 

They are in it together now, no matter what happens. 

"Come on, kids," Jimin says. "A few more takes and then we'll stop for dinner. I ordered chicken." 

The promise of food revives the flagging trainees. They are on their feet and back in position. Yoongi is a bit slower to rise. Goddamn old age. He can get through another day. He can get through this and then they'll be gone. 

Fortified by dinner, they practice late into the night. Jimin might keep them going until daybreak, but the audio engineer says he needs to get home. Reluctantly, Jimin tells the kids to go get changed. Yoongi climbs to his feet. He’s going to sleep like the dead after this. Jungkook grins at him. "Good job today, hyung." 

Yoongi rolls his eyes. "Punk," he says, fondly. 

"You ready for tomorrow?" Jungkook asks. There is a thin note of anxiety in his voice. He wants confirmation that everything is going to be okay. 

Yoongi isn't ready and isn't sure, but he has no compunctions about lying now. "Yeah," he says. "Everything's going be fine, Jungkook-ah." 

Jungkook smiles and runs up ahead to catch up with Hyungjoon. 

Yoongi exhales. Maybe it's true. Maybe everything will – 

The big double doors at the front of the auditorium burst open. Yoongi turns, frowning. They all came in through the side door. Who– 

Seo Junho stands in the doorway. His usually crisp white shirt is smeared dirty, and his eyes are wide and wild. The stains, Yoongi realizes, are soot. There is soot on his face, too, and a sour burnt smell precedes him. Foul miasma. 

"Park Jimin," he roars, coming down the center aisle fast. "You little fucker." 

Seo coughs. He is breathing hard and under the mask of soot his face is red. He comes to a stop at the foot of the stage, fists clenched, a bundle of hot, tight fury. 

Jimin turns to face him, grim expression on his face. He looks so small, suddenly, standing alone in the center of the stage. Yoongi wants to go to him, but something holds him back. This is Jimin's revenge.

"What?" Jimin asks, cold and calm. 

Seo's chest heaves. "You fucking worm," he gasps. "What did you do?" 

Jimin laughs, scornful and amused. It's a marvel, the way he can lock his fear down so tight. "What did I do?" 

"You..." Seo sputters. "You went to Blue Rose?" 

Jimin nods. He crosses his arms over his chest. The auditorium is dead silent. Yoongi can hear the harsh drag of Seo's breath.

"How did you find out?" Seo asks. "How the fuck did you find out? The whole reason I agreed to this bullshit when that moron Kwak came begging is because I knew none of you had the smarts or the ambition to get in my way." 

"You're careless," Jimin says, words soaked in disdain. "You're not as good as you think you are. I've been doing this a long time. I have a lot of friends. I know what game you’re playing at." 

Seo's nostrils flare. "What _friends_? You're a petty crook, Park Jimin. You're a failed _idol_." 

"It was my idea in the first place," Jimin hisses, and for the first time Yoongi can hear some real heat in his voice. "This was _my idea_." 

Seo chuckles. "Is that what this is about? You jealous that you're not getting credit for your big idea?" He makes an abrupt dismissing gesture with his hand, slashing through the air. "This isn't your little sleight of hand bullshit, ripping off a few hundred thousand won. You just stepped right off the edge into the deep end, fucker." 

Jimin swallows. "I don’t want credit," he says. "But this isn't what I wanted to happen." 

"Oh, it's not? Poor little baby had a pang of conscience?" Seo snorts. "Did you really think that what you wanted would make any difference? Do you really think anyone in this entire fucking world gives a shit about what _you want_? You're fucking disposable, Park Jimin. You think I couldn't find a hundred other kids to play your part? Kids who would listen to me willingly and eagerly, for just the hint of a chance of fame. I kept you on because I felt bad for you." 

Jimin's fists are clenched. "Fuck you," he says, teeth bared. 

In a burst of motion more powerful than Yoongi would have thought him capable of, Seo hurls leaps forward. He scrambles for a moment but then gets a leg up and hauls himself onto the stage. He gets to his feet, staggering. His hair is all in disarray. He looks wild. All that terrible leashed energy is unchained. 

"They burned down the warehouse," he gasps. "Yoon's guys fucking burned down the warehouse." There's a manic note in his voice that makes Yoongi's skin crawl. "It wasn’t even my shit. Bang Woohyun is going to want his money. They are going to want their money, Jimin.” 

"What’s wrong? Can’t submit an insurance claim for your damaged merchandise?" Jimin asks, smirking. 

Idiot, Yoongi thinks. Don't taunt him. Just get the fuck out of here, Jimin. Just end it. 

Seo takes two steps towards Jimin, who stands his ground. 

“You know I can't, you little asshole. You know exactly why I can't. You know. Somehow, you know exactly what was going on. They told me – weeks ago they told me someone had broken in. That was you, wasn't it? What the fuck. You've been behind this whole thing, haven't you?" 

Jimin is unmoved and cold, stiff as a statue. 

Seo makes a hysterical noise. "Well fuck all of you," he says. "You and Kwak and all of you fucking assholes. I don't need you. This charade is over tomorrow, Jimin. You better watch your back." 

"I'll watch his back," Yoongi says, almost without realizing it. 

Seo is silent for a moment, searching the dark wings of the stage to see who's speaking. When Yoongi steps forward, he frowns.

"You," Seo says. "So, you're in on this too? What bullshit did Jimin feed you? Did he promise you fame? Success? Lure you in with that pretty face and that sexy little body?" He snorts. "You wouldn't be the first, kid." 

Before Yoongi even knows what he's doing, he's striding across the stage, nearly running. Something about the way Jimin's face crumpled at Seo's words pierced Yoongi right in the heart. Fuck this asshole. Yoongi's hands dig into Seo’s shirt and with strength that visibly shocks Seo, Yoongi lifts him up and throws him back, landing on top of him on the hard stage floor.

Yoongi's teeth rattle and his heart is pounding. Seo isn't a big guy but he's bigger than Yoongi and struggling hard beneath him. But Yoongi isn't some fucking kid. He's been here before. He's done this before, and he is angry now, angrier almost than he's ever been in his entire life. His fist slams into the side of Seo's face, right below the eye. Seo cries out and kicks hard, and Yoongi rolls off. Seo lurches to his feet, and Yoongi kicks as Seo lunges for him. He catches Seo in the gut, but Seo is furious and heavier than Yoongi and his hands find Yoongi's shoulders. His forehead cracks against Yoongi's forehead – clank! – and Yoongi sees stars. 

Then Jimin is there, and Jungkook, and all the kids, and they are pulling Seo off of Yoongi. Byungchul, of all people, holds Seo's arms behind his back as he struggles, grunting. 

"Get the fuck off me," he screams, veins in his throat bulging, flailing so violently that even Byungchul, big ox that he is, lets go and take a step back. 

Jimin helps Yoongi sit up. Spots and colors swim at the edge of his vision, but things are starting to settle. He looks up and meets Seo's eyes. 

"You fuckers," Seo pants. "You little fucking assholes. Count your fucking blessings while they last. After tomorrow I –" 

He catches himself then, as if he realizes he's nearly gone too far. He is still for a moment, as if willing himself to calm down. 

"After tomorrow," he says coldly, "I'm done with all of this." 

He lurches towards Yoongi then, erratic, but catches himself and changes course. He jumps off the stage and stumbles as he lands and make a loud, furious noise. Then, muttering to himself, he retreats back out the double doors, which slam shut behind him. 

They are all silent for a moment, and then Jimin puts a hand softly on Yoongi's shoulder. "Are you okay?" he asks. 

Yoongi knows there is much more he wants to ask, but they can't. Not now. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah. I'll be fine." 

Hyungjoon, trembling and pale-faced, asks, "Jimin hyung, is everything okay? Are we not going to debut?" 

Jimin, so tired he looks like he might fall over, smiles serenely. "Everything is fine, Hyungjoon-ah," he says, standing up. "Everything is fine. Director Seo is just under a lot of stress right now. Don't worry." He offers Yoongi a hand and helps haul him to his feet. 

Yoongi's head spins for a moment before it reaches equilibrium. "Yeah," he says. "Everything will be fine." He closes his eyes and then opens them. "Come on kids. Let's go home. Tomorrow is going to be a big day." 

*****

Backstage. Suddenly, a profusion of people. Every two-bit low life that's ever hung around the Golden Calf office is here today. The man with the golden tooth who sleeps behind the reception desk has found a new corner to snooze in. Their stage outfits hang on a rolling rack: baggy pants and billowy white shirts and sequined vest and even Byungchul’s eye patch. A woman Yoongi has never seen before shows up with a large makeup case and immediately sets to work on Hyungjoon. She does his foundation too light. His face looks strangely flat, like he's wearing a mask. 

Jungkook is in makeup now, staring at his reflection in the mirror with big eyes. Wonjae is having is hair done. Byungchul is sitting in the corner taking a selfie with a rather unwilling Hyungjoon. 

It is five o'clock in the evening. Island Boys' debut showcase is due to start in an hour. 

Yoongi's stomach is twisted and sour. He hasn't been able to eat anything all day. He had his own makeup done earlier, and he can't get over the weird, stiff feeling of the mascara the woman put on his eyelashes. He's never in his life been aware of his eyelashes, but he is now. They catch together when he blinks. Fucking weird. 

"Hyung," Hyungjoon says. 

"Hmm?" Yoongi asks. 

"Where is Jimin hyung?" 

Yoongi shrugs. Jimin disappeared a half an hour ago without a word. 

Yoongi's not doubting him, but it makes him nervous nevertheless. He wants Jimin here, at his side. 

Hyungjoon nods. "Do you think we can go out and look at the audience? I want to see who's out there." 

Yoongi has nothing better to do, and he could use the distraction. "Let's go take a look, Hyungjoon-ah." 

He and Hyungjoon walk down the damp, cold hall. There are a few men hanging around who seem like maybe they might know something about putting on a show. On the other hand, they could just be more of Kwak’s lackeys. It's hard to say. 

They open the stage door quietly. Backstage is dark and still. They step carefully over equipment and wires, right to the very edge of the stage. 

The curtain is still down. Yoongi peels it back just a finger's breadth and they peer out. 

The first five or six rows of the auditorium are filled with a collection of giddy, yammering girls. Yoongi doesn't know how, but through mysterious processes impenetrable to him they've accumulated a minor following. They have signs and banner and are wearing buttons with the Island Boys logo pinned to the lapels of their sensible winter coats. 

"Wow," Hyungjoon says. "There are so many people." 

"Yeah," Yoongi says. "We're practically on our way to being the next Big Bang at this rate." 

Hyungjoon laughs. They've all gotten used to Yoongi's sense of humor. "No," he says. "But it's still really good. My hyung kept teasing me and saying that nobody would come." 

"Is he coming?" Yoongi asks. 

"Of course," Hyungjoon says, proudly. 

Sweet, dumb kids. Yoongi can hardly believe it, but he's going to miss them. 

"Come on," Yoongi says, letting the curtain fall closed. "Let's go back. Not much time left now." 

Back through the hallways they go, past the strange silent men in black clothing who somehow are making this whole thing come together. Even for this farce of a debut, the efforts of dozens of people are required.

When they get back to the dressing room, Jimin is there, sitting on the couch and staring down at his phone, as if he hadn't disappeared at all. His own makeup is done and evidences a finer touch than the heavy-handed ministrations of their new stylist. He probably did it himself, Yoongi thinks.

Yoongi sits down on a folding chair in the corner and crosses his arms over his chest. He stares at Jimin, willing him to look up, but Jimin doesn't. Yoongi gets up and walks over to Jungkook, who is done with makeup and has put on his pink sparkly vest. 

"You ready?" Yoongi asks. 

Jungkook looks up at him with wide eyes. "Of course," he says as though readiness is his natural state. "Are you, hyung?" 

In a few hours, after things play out, Jimin and Yoongi will go to a hotel room booked under a false name, where their bags are already waiting. Jungkook will go back to Yoongi's apartment and stay there until Namjoon and Taehyung get in touch with him. 

It all seems unreal. Yoongi can't get it through his head that in two days’ time he will be in Vietnam with Jimin, and all of this will be left behind. 

Something will ruin it. He doesn't know what, but nothing else in his life has ever worked out. He's not sure why his luck would turn now. 

The door slams open. Kwak, wearing an ugly purple suit and a black shirt, glares at them for a moment before his gaze softens just a little. There's something wild and wide-eyed about his expression. "You ready, kids?" he asks. 

They all nod. 

"Jimin," Kwak calls. "Are they ready?" 

Jimin looks up, blank-faced for a moment, and then nods. "Yes," he says. "Everything is ready." 

"Let's get go, then," he says, and he claps. "What the fuck are you all doing sitting around? Let's get this fucking show on the road." 

The kids look at each other for a moment, confused, but then Jimin stands up and like some magic spell has been broken they all jump into action: pulling on sparkly vests and fixing eye patches and bandanas and looking for their stupid fucking pirate boots. Yoongi unties and then reties his own bandana, which he has been instructed to wear around his head like a headband. His hair is slicked up away from his face, and his eye makeup is excessive.

He looks like a fucking idiot. 

"I like it," Jimin says. 

"Shit," Yoongi says, bringing a hand to his chest. "You scared me." 

"I like your hair like this," Jimin says again, smiling, as calm as if they're getting ready to go out for a fucking walk in the park. 

"Where were you?" Yoongi hisses. 

Jimin bites his lower lip. "Called Taehyung," he says quietly. 

"And?" 

Jimin allows himself a smile. "It's done," he says. "He cleaned Seo out." 

Something inside Yoongi thrills. "How much?" 

"Ten billion," Jimin breathes, eyes wide. "Between his personal accounts and the company accounts in his name." 

"Shit," Yoongi says. "Shit." 

Jimin smothers a smile. "Split six ways that's ..." 

More money than Yoongi's ever had in life. More money than he ever dreamed of having. They're not going to be buying any private jets or anything, but it is more than enough for the two of them. But wait... 

"Six ways?" 

Jimin sighs. "Seokjin hyung wouldn't take anything," he mutters. "Said it was a going away present." 

Yoongi is quiet for a moment. "He's a good guy," he admits, begrudgingly. 

Jimin nods, shy and pleased. "He is," he says. He pauses, and them smiles. "He's the one that told me that you would go, if I asked you." 

"You told him about us?" Yoongi tries to keep his face stern, but he's secretly pleased. 

Jimin shakes his head though. "No," he says. "He asked me. He knows me better than just about anyone." 

Yoongi hmphs, annoyed. "Only because he has a head start," he says. 

Kwak, wild-eyed and red-faced, sticks his head back in the door then. "Jimin, what the fuck are you doing? Come _on_. We need to get the kids on the stage." He disappears, but they can hear him in the hall, screaming at the kids to get in line. 

Jimin grabs Yoongi's hand and squeezes. "We can do this," he says.

Yoongi nods. "I know," he says. "I know we can. I just..." 

He can't explain that even now, even still, he's worried that this isn't the right thing. 

Jimin shakes his head. "I know what you're thinking," he says. "Stop it. Whatever happens, we're going to be okay, you know?" 

"How do you know?" Yoongi frowns. 

"Because we're in this together," Jimin says, and he squeezes Yoongi's hand once more before letting go and running out into the hall to placate Kwak. 

Yoongi squares his shoulders. This is it. Jimin is right. Too late to turn back now. 

"Fuck it," Yoongi says, and he half jogs to catch up to the others. 

***** 

They line up in the hall, all six of them. Jimin is in the front, talking quietly to Kwak. Yoongi is at the back of the line, behind Jungkook. 

Fifteen minutes. 

He glances down the hall. 

Weird flicker of fluorescent lights. Pale washed out walls and dirty floors. This is like some kind of nightmare. His head hurts. He wishes he had some aspirin. 

Jimin and Kwak finish their hushed conversation. Whatever they're discussing, Kwak does not look pleased. He stalks off towards the stage doors, feet slapping loud on the linoleum. 

Jimin claps his hands once to get the kids' attention. They are jittery and nervous and take a moment to settle. Jimin claps again. "Calm down, everyone," he says, smiling. "I didn't think we'd ever get here, but this is it. You did it." 

They preen. Idiot Byungchul puffs up his chest. Hyungjoon looks so happy he might cry. 

Fuck. Yoongi can't watch it. They’ll all be fine in the end, but it hurts watching this, knowing their dreams are tissue-paper thin. In a few hours the ruse will be up. If there's anyone in this goddamn mess he feels sorry for, it's these kids. 

"I want you to know," Jimin says, “that no matter what happens after we step on that stage, I'm really proud of you guys. You've worked so hard to get here. Nobody can take that away from you." 

"It's all thanks to you, hyung," Jungkook says. "We couldn't have done it without you." 

They're not a sentimental group. Yoongi prepares to bite his tongue at the scorn of adolescent derision that Jungkook's earnestness always elicits. 

But this time it's different. "Yeah," Byungchul says. "You did everything, Jimin hyung. We would suck even worse than we do now if you hadn't helped us all so much." 

The other two join in. They rain a veritable shower of praise on Jimin, whose cheeks are red and whose eyes are suspiciously glassy. Only Yoongi is silent, until Byungchul turns to glare at him. "What about you? Aren't you thankful for Jimin, hyung? It's not like you knew anything when you got here, either." 

Yoongi swallows. Fuck. "Yeah," he says quietly. "I mean, I guess I am." He meets Jimin's eyes and smiles. "Thanks." 

He is thankful for so much more than Byungchul can even imagine. 

Jimin beams back at him. 

"Thank you all," he says then, “but we did this together. As a team." 

He glances down at his watch. "We have to go backstage. Are you all ready? Everyone's phone is in the dressing room?" 

Wonjae's is not. He runs to put it away. Jimin fixes Jungkook's microphone. When Wonjae gets back, Jimin takes a deep breath and brings them to attention once more. "Let's do it," he says. 

It's time. 

They walk down the hall. Jimin opens the stage door, and they pass into a dim, eerie world, dimly lit and full of black-clad scurrying stage hands. 

Jimin – fuck, how does he even know how to do this shit? – brings them to their marks, which are taped out in masking tape on the stage. They fall into position: it's second nature by now. Yoongi's hip aches. He closes his eyes. This is the very last time. He can endure it once more. 

There's a muted roar from the other side of the curtain. The high pitched eager screams of the girls linger for a moment before they die. 

Kwak starts to speak. 

Yoongi frowns. It's supposed to be Seo out there, introducing them. That's what Jimin's had said. Where the fuck is he? 

There’s no way he found out about the money. Not already. 

It doesn’t matter, anyway. There’s nothing they can do. They have moments left before the curtain comes up. Yoongi’s heartbeat throbs in his throat, in his temples, in his wrists. Jungkook, to his left, has his eyes closed and is muttering something to himself. Each of them is engaged in some private little moment of reflection or prayer. 

Fuck, Yoongi thinks. They’re going to need it to pull this off. 

Kwak finishes his speech, and there’s another volley of applause. He walks backstage, and stares at them with narrow, nervous eyes. 

“Don’t fuck up,” he tells Jimin. 

Jimin just nods. 

Kwak disappears into the wings. For just a moment, all is silent and dark. Then the curtain comes up and that familiar awful introduction begins. Somehow all those months of practice have done their job: not gracefully, exactly, but with plenty of enthusiasm, they start to dance. 

Afterwards, Yoongi remembers very little about Island Boy’s one and only performance. What he does remember are the stage lights. So bright. Nobody had warned him how bright they would be, and how much heat they would throw off. He remembers sweat running down his back, under that damn sequined vest. He remembers, too, at one point, thinking that they’d been on stage long enough to perform Heave Ho! three times over, but at the same time he still hadn’t rapped his verse yet. He remembers finally stepping into the center of the formation and spitting those lines with as much enthusiasm and skill as he could muster, as embarrassing as they are. 

He remembers feeling as full of life and joy as he’s felt in a long, long time. Like an echo through time, he remembers standing on the stage in a dingy club at sixteen and feeling the same thrill of pleasure. 

Fuck. It might have been, but it wasn’t meant to be.

He remembers being somehow stunned when they finally get to the end of the song. Nobody tripped or forgot any lines or went terrible off key or fell headfirst off the stage. They sank with relative grace into their final poses and Yoongi closed his eyes and the lights went down and he thought to himself, fuck. We did it. 

They’d done it. 

That is all later though, in reflection. 

In that moment when the lights dim, all he can think is that he needs to catch his breath before the second song starts.

It takes him a moment to realize that the noise he hears isn’t his blood rushing in his ears but is applause, loud and enthusiastic. 

Jungkook looks up at him and grins. 

They have thirty seconds to get ready for the next track. There’s a bit of fumbling. Hyungjoon takes Byungchul’s place and he good-naturedly shoves the younger boy aside. Finally, though, just in time, they find their marks and the second track starts and the lights go up again. 

They perform on autopilot. Yoongi does, at least. He stops thinking and starts dancing and singing and trusts his muscle memory to keep him moving in vaguely the right direction. It’s amazing, but he almost thinks he’s enjoying himself. He almost thinks it’s _fun_. They’ve made it through two verses and the chorus — almost halfway through the song — when the audio suddenly cuts out. 

They all freeze. Jimin comes up short, stumbling. Jungkook looks over at Yoongi, frowning, looking for reassurance, but this isn’t part of their plan. He doesn’t have any clue what’s going on. 

“Uh,” Yoongi says, “Excuse us. Technical difficulties.” His voice sounds too big, too empty, echoing on the AV system. 

The audience titters, confused. 

Kwak is standing in the wings, waving his arms, motioning for them to keep going, but he’s more of a crazy bastard than he seems if he thinks they’re going to perform without music. 

That gives Yoongi an idea though. He puts an arm around Jungkook’s shoulder.

“This is Jeon Jungkook,” he says. “Our incredibly talented main vocal. He’s going to keep you entertained while we get this sorted out.” 

Hand covering his mic, Jungkook hisses, “Hyung, what are you doing?” 

Yoongi shrugs. “Just sing something, kid,” he mutters. “You can do it. Buy us some time to see what’s going on.” 

Jungkook squares his shoulders and gets that determined look on his face that makes Yoongi think that he could move mountains if he really wanted to. “Okay,” he says. “For you, hyung.” 

Jesus. “Thanks, Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi mutters. “You’re the best of us, kid.”

Jungkook beams and steps forward, into the spotlight. 

Jimin herds the other kids offstage just as Jungkook starts to sing. Yoongi is close behind, but he lingers just one moment to watch Jungkook, who is belting out some sweet old love song in his clear, strong voice. 

There’s no justice in this damn world, Yoongi thinks, but if there were, Jungkook would get the chance to do this all again, for real, in a company that will take care of him. 

Just off stage, the kids are huddled together, whispering. Kwak and Jimin are talking, closed together, voices heated but quiet. 

Yoongi comes up and puts a hand on Jimin’s shoulder. “What’s going on?” 

Jimin’s eyes are huge. “Seo is here,” Jimin says. “In the booth. He’s…” 

“He’s right here, you fucker.” 

They look up, all three of them. Seo Junho is standing in the doorway, still wearing those ash-stained clothes, although he’s washed his face. He doesn’t look like he’s slept at all. His eyes are wide and red-rimmed and he is trembling, filled with some tense and terrible energy. 

“What the fuck did you do?” 

He lurches forward. 

“What the fuck did you do, Jimin?”

Jimin takes a step backward. “What are you talking about, hyung?” 

“You motherfucking little fuck. Where the fuck is my money?” 

“Director,” Kwak says. “I don’t think Jimin here would –“ 

“You shut up,” Seo says, moving steadily towards them. “You fucking idiot. You’re so goddamn dumb you don’t even realize he’s fucked us over. All the money is _gone_.” 

Kwak, oafish and slow, frowns. “Jimin, what is he talking about? What money?” 

“All of it!” Seo screams. They can hear him out in the audience, Yoongi is sure, but Jungkook is still singing, thank god. “My accounts are cleaned out. Every fucking won is gone, and Bang Woohyun is already demanding I compensate him for his lost merchandise.” 

“What are you talking about, Junho? What merchandise? What is Bang Woohyun demanding? Are you working with Yellow Dragon?” 

Seo bares his teeth. “Don’t worry about that, you old fool. Jimin took _all our money_. Every cent.” 

Kwak frowns. “Jimin-ah, is that true?” 

Jimin makes a frustrated noise. “Hyung, did you really think Seo Junho wanted to debut an _idol group_? He doesn’t care about the group or the music. He just needed a cover. He was planning to fuck us over this whole time.” 

Yoongi can see the doubt bloom in Kwak’s eyes. He’s dumb, but he’s not that dumb, and there is a visible moment of conflict on his face before he makes his decision and lunges for Jimin. 

Yoongi is moving before he even thinks about it. He tackles Kwak, head-butting him in the gut. Kwak is bigger but Yoongi has momentum on his side. Kwak and Yoongi go sprawling to the floor. All of Yoongi’s teeth rattle in his head, but he digs his fingers into the back of Kwak’s suit and don’t let go even as Kwak bucks and yells beneath him. Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut — this is going to hurt like hell — and smashes his forehead into Kwak’s nose. There’s a moment of stars and lightening blooming in the dark but then his vision comes back and he is staring down at a quickly spreading pool of blood. The red drops are as brilliant and opaque as paint.

“Fuck,” Kwak mutters, bringing his hand to his nose. “You fucker. You broke it.” 

His hands do nothing to staunch the flow. He moans, low and pained, and curses again. 

Yoongi rolls off him and kneels on the floor, gasping. 

Seo watches but makes no move to help his friend, or whatever the fuck he considers Kwak. 

“I see you found yourself a little partner, Jimin,” Seo says, tossing his head at Yoongi. His fists are clenched. “What did he promise you? A cut of the money? You should realize you can’t trust this snake, Yoongi-ssi.” 

Slowly, Yoongi gets to his feet. He can hear applause from the stage, polite but anxious. The fall did not help his hip. It throbs in time with his heartbeat. 

“You think you’re so fucking smart,” Yoongi says. “You dumbass. Jimin didn’t promise me anything.” He shakes his head. “You greedy fuck. You think you’re so smart, but you’re the one who trusts people you shouldn’t. Virtual idols? Really? Who the fuck falls for something like that?” 

Seo glances too quickly between them. “What… You…. Who the fuck are you?” 

“Officer Min Yoongi. Seoul Metropolitan Police.” Yoongi steps forward. “Jimin didn’t recruit me. I flipped him. I’ve had you figured out for months.” 

Seo bares his teeth. “Lying,” he says. “You’re lying. You’re…. Months? There’s no… What have you been waiting for then, Officer?” He laughs, hysterical. “Waiting for me to have some pang of conscience like Jimin here and turn myself over to you?”

“Waiting for tonight,” Yoongi says. “Backup is on the way, Seo. It’s all over.” 

Seo bares his teeth and makes a wild, animal noise. Then he into his coat, and oh shit. Oh shit. Yoongi knows that motion. Seo is reaching for a gun holstered under his arm. Time goes all solid again. Frozen. Yoongi shoves Jimin out of his way just as the shot deafens them all. Yoongi feels something touch his arm, no more painful than a bee sting. He falls over Jimin and covers him, ignoring that pain. Seo still has the gun and Yoongi’s back is to him. Fuck. This is not good. This is … 

There’s a grunt. Yoongi turns. Kwak has gotten to his feet. He looks like a fucking monster. Dark blood covers chin and chest like some grisly beard. He lurches towards Seo. 

“You fucker,” he says. “You were gonna give up on Island Boys?” 

Seo’s eyes go wide. “Of course I was going to. That was the fucking plan all along, idiot. Did you really think your pathetic sea shanties were going to make us any money? As soon as we made enough of a show so that the investors wouldn’t get suspicious, I was going to pack up shop and go.”

Kwak bares his teeth. The red blood clashes with his purple suit. “They’re not fucking sea shanties,” he roars, crashing into Seo, reaching for the gun. Seo is bigger, but Kwak is furious and red-faced. One hand closes around Seo’s wrist. Kwak knees Seo in the groin, and Seo staggers, gasping, but he doesn’t let go of the gun. He staggers back, dragging Kwak with him, and then reaches up and smacks Kwak right in his nose. The waterfall of blood starts again, and Kwak howls, inhuman in his pain. He lets go of Seo’s wrist and brings his hands to his face, smearing the blood all around. Then he bellows, loud as a bull and charges at Seo again. 

There is another explosion. Yoongi’s ears ring. He blinks, and for a moment he thinks Seo has missed. 

Then he sees the red hole in Kwak’s shirt, disguised by the blood from his nose.

Right through the chest pocket. 

Kwak staggers. His eyes flare. He staggers forward heavily into Seo and they both go down, a leaden heap. “It was my dream, you fucker,” Kwak gasps, gurgling. 

He breathes once, twice more, wetly, and then he is still. 

Yoongi gets to his feet. He feels all off balance. Seo is struggling under the body, reaching for the gun. 

Yoongi steps down on his wrist, hard. Bones break audibly. 

Seo howls. 

Jimin rolls to a crouch and then finds his feet too. He takes off his sparkly yellow bandana and wraps the gun in it. 

Yoongi stares down at Seo, trying to think of something suitably profound to say. 

There’s nothing. 

“Fuck you,” He says. He grinds down on Seo’s wrist once more, and then leans down and reaches in Seo’s pants pocket. 

He takes out Seo’s fancy leather wallet and opens it. The credit cards are worthless, but there’s a fat wad of cash. 

Yoongi takes it and shoves it in his own pocket. 

“There,” he says, throwing the wallet on Seo’s chest. “Now we’ve taken it all, you asshole.” 

Seo starts to shove Kwak’s prone body off him again, still struggling to get up, still eager for a fight. Yoongi sees red. Can’t he just have this one victory? Yoongi is not going to give up, not this close to the end. If Seo wants a fight, Yoongi will give it to him. Breathing hard, Yoongi kicks him in stomach, once, twice, and again and…

Jimin grabs Yoongi’s arm and hauls him away. Yoongi staggers and falls back into Jimin’s arms. 

“Sorry,” he gasps. “Sorry. I just fucking hate that prick so goddamn much.” 

Seo moans weakly. He’ll live though. Asshole.

“Hyung,” Jimin says, eyes huge. He looks down at Yoongi. 

“Huh?” 

There’s blood all over him, dying his pirate shirt scarlet. How did that happen? When he broke Kwak’s nose? 

“Hyung!” Jimin shakes him. “Hyung. You’ve been shot.” 

Oh. 

Yoongi puts a hand over that burning point of pain on his arm. 

“It’s nothing,” he says, faintly, even though he can feel the heat of his blood, warm and wet under his fingers, can feel the way the world is already starting to spin and fade at the edges. 

Fuck.

The stage door bursts open.

“Officer Min?” Officer Lee sounds more shocked than he ever has. “What the fuck is going on here?” 

Lee sees the bodies on the ground then, and things start happening too fast for Yoongi to keep up. More officers flood through the door. He hears Seo bellowing and gasping. Someone yells that they need to get the audience to safety, out of the building. Yoongi isn’t going to die, or anything, he thinks, but he’s definitely felt better. His head won’t stop spinning, and the edges of his vision are black. He closes his eyes and leans into Jimin. 

“Come on,” Jimin whispers, urgently. “We have to go now, hyung, or we’re not going to get to leave.” 

Yoongi closes his eyes. Lee is distracted by the body, but he’ll be looking for Yoongi soon. If he stays, if he plays this right, it might be enough to get him back on the force. 

“Hyung?” Jimin asks. His eyes are wide and Yoongi’s blood is smeared on his face. There’s so much noise and light and everything going on all at once right now that Yoongi can’t keep anything straight.

He knows what he wants though. 

He kisses Jimin and tastes the iron sweet blood on his lips. 

“Let’s go,” he says. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” 

Jimin smiles, and nods. He wraps an arm around Yoongi’s waist, hold him up, and they make their way out into the hall, back past the dressing room, and out into the cold night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol I apologize for my attempts at writing ~action~. One more chapter to go!


	18. Chapter 18

Yoongi’s memories of the rest of the evening’s events are a little fuzzy, but from how Jimin tells it, Yoongi nearly derails all their plans when he stubbornly insists he can’t get into Jimin’s car covered in blood. Jimin has to manhandle him into the passenger’s seat, reminding him that after tomorrow they’re not going to need the car. And besides, with Seo’s money they can buy five new cars if they want them. 

Yoongi remembers resting his head against the cool glass. The city lights are abstract and beautiful, shimmers in the dark. They drive to Gangnam and visit Jimin’s kind doctor friend again in her anonymous office. She clucks with concern when she sees the wound, but she cleans it and bandages it with professional efficiency. No stitches this time, thank god. 

“He’ll be fine,” she tells Jimin. “He needs to take it easy though.” 

“Can he fly tomorrow?” Jimin asks, worried. 

The woman sighs. “Do you have a choice?” 

Jimin shakes his head. 

She sighs more deeply. “Just keep him calm. And lots of rest after you get wherever you’re going, Jimin.” 

“Thanks, nuna,” he says. “For everything.” 

She pats him on the cheek and tells him to take care. 

They shower in her office – together, because Yoongi needs Jimin’s help since his arm is all fucked. The water runs red for a long time. Then Jimin produces clean clothes from his backpack and helps Yoongi into them: cheap sweatpants and tee shirts, tags still on them. 

When they are dressed and the dirty clothes have been bundled up in a garbage bag, Jimin looks around, making sure there are no signs of their visit left. When he’s finally satisfied, he looks at Yoongi and smiles. 

“You saved my life, hyung,” he says. 

Yoongi shakes his head. “Nah,” he mumbles. “Had pretty bad aim, honestly.” 

Jimin laughs. “I think it still counts.” 

“Well, we’re even then,” Yoongi mutters, and he doesn’t even know what he means, except that he does. 

Jimin rescued him from something a lot more awful than death: that nothing life he would have kept living indefinitely. No love, no joy. Nothing. 

Jimin shakes his head. “Never,” he says. “Come on. Let’s go get a few hours of sleep.” 

They drive to someplace near the river and leave Jimin’s car. The bag of dirty clothes they toss in a dumpster. Another car is waiting for them, unlocked, keys in the glove box. They drive that to the hotel, park it a block away, and then finally make their way up to the anonymous white room. 

They strip and collapse on the bed (gently, in Yoongi’s case, so as not to jostle his arm too badly). Jimin wraps his arms around Yoongi and tucks his head under Yoongi’s chin. The sheets are soft and the room is warm and Jimin’s hair is still damp from the shower. Yoongi’s mind is racing and he feels like he got run over by a truck. There are still so many things that could go wrong, but for now – this one quiet night – they are together, and everything is okay.

He feels like he’s been asleep ten minutes when Jimin shakes him awake. 

“It’s time to go,” Jimin whispers, close to his ear. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like hell,” Yoongi says. He closes his eyes again. He wants to sleep so badly. He wants to stay here in this room with Jimin forever. “Let’s just go back to bed.” 

He grabs Jimin around the waist, swallowing a curse at the sharp pain that runs down his arm. Jimin obliges for just a moment, curling close to him, kissing Yoongi’s nose, but then he rolls way. 

“Yoongi,” he says. “Come on. I have to go.” 

_I_ have to go? That’s not right. Yoongi sits up. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Jimin looks too pale in the pre-dawn light.

“I can’t stay here,” he says. “Seo has friends who are going to be very angry at how this went down. And Yoon’s crew…” He shakes his head. “Things are going to get bad. I have to leave, today, whether you come or not.” He glances down at the floor. His lower lip juts just slightly, the way it does when he’s upset and thinks he’s hiding it. “You’re _hurt_. I understand if you don’t want to come. If you stay, maybe the Superintendent will reconsider.” He shrugs, limp and sad. 

Yoongi snorts. “You’re a moron,” he says. “You think after taking down a corrupt entertainment company and sparking a gang war and debuting as a fucking _idol_ with you I’m going to let you go on vacation by yourself?” He shakes his head. “I’m not letting you off that easy, Park Jimin.” 

Jimin looks up and that bright light he tries so hard to extinguish has kindled in his eyes again. 

“I guess that doesn’t seem fair,” he admits. 

“Damn right it’s not fair,” Yoongi mutters. “Uh. Can you help me with my shirt?” 

They dress quietly, leaving behind the sweats and tee shirts they’d changed into last night. Their bags are lightly packed. Jimin says they can buy whatever they need there. The money – all those goddamn zeros! – has already been secreted out of the country on hidden electronic channels by Taehyung. Kid really is a fucking genius or something. The new passports have their faces, but different names, which immediately makes Yoongi worried, even though Jimin insists it’s fine, insists that after all they’ve done this is the slightest, barest crime. 

So, it’s all taken care of. Every arrangement is made. But in spite of his big words, Yoongi’s heart races as they check out in quiet lobby of the hotel. It races as they drive that anonymous little car to Gimpo, and races faster as they park it, leaving the key on the front tire. A friend will pick it up there, Jimin says. 

He thinks his heart might thrum out of his chest as they go through security. He’s sure some giant siren is going to sound, and fifty cops brandishing handcuffs – more than were at the auditorium last night – will leap out and tackle him. 

None do. The passports pass muster. 

They go and sit by their gate, waiting to board. 

Jimin takes out a phone. 

Fuck. Yoongi doesn’t have his. He left it at the venue.

“My phone,” he says, weakly. 

As though there’s any chance they’d go back for something that inconsequential. 

“This is just a burner,” Jimin says. Then, more quietly. “I texted Jungkook.” 

Oh. 

“And?” 

“He’s fine,” Jimin says. “Namjoon came and stayed with him at your place.” 

Oh. “That’s good,” Yoongi says. 

Jimin smiles a little wickedly. “He says that cop freaked out when they couldn’t find you after things calmed down.” 

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, unable to hide all of his satisfaction. “I bet he did.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Do you think Jungkook is going to be okay?” 

Jimin looks thoughtful. “I think if any of us are, it’s him.” 

“Good,” Yoongi says. “I hope…” He doesn’t know what. He just knows that Jungkook deserves a second chance, and a fair shake this time.

“Yeah,” Jimin says softly. “Me too.” 

Ten minutes before the flight boards, Jimin gets up to use the lavatory and drops the burner phone in the garbage. 

Snip. Just like that. Cutting all the cords, one by one. 

They board the plane. It pulls back from the gate. Jimin takes Yoongi’s hand and weaves their fingers together, and holds it as they taxi, holds it until the wheels lift from the ground in that first stomach-turning moment of buoyancy. Then he exhales softly and smiles, like some great weight has been lifted. 

“We did it,” he says. 

They did. 

Yoongi sleeps for most of the flight. He wakes just as they’re landing. Jimin has been sleeping too, by the looks of it. His eyes are puffy and his hair is mussed. 

Yoongi’s stomach twists upside down again as they clear immigration in Hanoi. Jimin has the visa applications all ready, bolstered by some excuse about coming to help with a family garment business, but Yoongi swears the woman who eyeballs his passport is suspicious. She glares at him, glares down at it, and then glares at him again before stamping it with excruciating slowness. 

But she does stamp it finally and slides it back across the counter. Jimin, who must somehow appear more trustworthy, is already waiting. 

He smiles.

“Come on,” he says. “My friend sent a car for us.” 

They climb into the back of a big, black SUV and for a while the scenery is novel enough to hold Yoongi’s attention, but the waning of his adrenaline means the return of all of his various aches and pains. His arm burns where the bullet bit into the muscle. He takes a few aspirin and sleeps again. 

It is a very long drive, made worse by traffic, and although they stop for lunch Yoongi is grumpy and tired and ill at ease. The driver turns the air conditioning off to save gas, and it is too hot. Jimin looks apologetic and doesn’t say much. It’s not an auspicious start, Yoongi thinks. 

Fuck. 

It’s midnight when they finally get to Jimin’s friend’s apartment. This ‘friend’ – from what Yoongi has been able to glean – is independently wealthy and travels extensively. Jimin did him some unspecified favor in the past that somehow earned the man’s lifelong gratitude. 

Jimin seems to be good at shit like that. 

The building looks old, and Yoongi is worried about another sweltering, sleepless night, but when they step inside everything is modern and thoroughly air conditioned. 

Thank god. 

They take the elevator to the flat on the second floor, and Jimin thanks the driver profusely and tips him well for helping with their luggage, meager as it was, and then the door shuts and… 

That’s it. 

This is it? 

Yoongi closes his eyes. He feels faintly dizzy. 

“Thought it would be more…” 

He can’t find the words

“I know,” Jimin says, quietly. “You did really well today.” He wraps his arms around Yoongi and kisses him. “You did so well, Yoongi.” 

Yoongi closes his eyes and lets himself be kissed, lets himself savor the sweet tender calm of being in Jimin’s arms without anything else to worry about in the world. 

They sleep in the middle of a wide bed, feet tangled together, but when Yoongi wakes – startled out of some strange blank dream – he is alone. 

It is very early still. The air conditioner is off now, and the ceiling fan hums lazily overhead. The French doors to the balcony are open. 

He wraps the comforter around himself like a robe and steps outside. Jimin is there, sitting with his knees pressed to his chest, curled up in one of the highbacked chairs.

He looks up when Yoongi comes out. “You should go back to bed,” he says, softly. “I couldn’t sleep.” 

“ _You_ should come back to bed, then,” Yoongi counters. 

He hadn’t realized last night, but this building overlooks the beach. A warm salty breeze blows in from the ocean. The first hint of sunrise dyes the water purple and rose. 

Yoongi sits at Jimin’s feet with the blanket wrapped around him. Jimin’s hand cards through Yoongi’s hair. There’s something fresh and bright in the ocean air that makes him feel good. Happy, even. Fuck. He wraps a hand around Jimin’s ankle, rubs his thumb over the little knob of bone. 

The sun rises in full, painting the whole hazy sky sherbet orange. Far out, a mountain rises from the water, silhouetted by the sun. An island? Maybe they can hire a boat and go out there. The water sparkles. Birds call to each other. Below, in the street and on the docks and on the beach, the town starts to wake up. 

“Do you think we did the right thing?” Jimin asks, quietly.

Yoongi closes his eyes. It is early still, but the sun is already warm and he can feel that warmth on his face, feel the smoothness of Jimin’s skin, smell the brisk bright tang of the water on the air. He never knew he wanted this, and he doesn’t know how long they’ll have it, but in this moment, he can’t imagine anywhere else in the world he’d rather be. 

“I think we did the best we could,” he says finally. “Let’s go back to bed and wake up again when it’s a real fucking time of day.” 

Jimin snorts but he gets up and, picking up the trailing tail of the blanket so it doesn’t drag on the ground, follows Yoongi back inside. 

*****

*****

"This month's hottest debut is Free, the first idol group from hitmaker RM's new Love Yourself label. The five-member boy group is scheduled to debut tomorrow, when they drop their mini-album 'Verse 1'. According to Hanteo Information System, pre-orders for the physical copy of the album are set to break records, already topping a hundred thousand. As a thank you for the interest their fans and the public have shown them, the group will hold their first fan meeting this weekend at the Olympic Gymnastics Stadium. Tickets for the event, which were given out for free to members of the groups’ fan café, are rumored to be reselling for hundreds of thousands of won." 

On screen, five boys dance to a bright electronic beat. Jungkook is front and center. The clip is over too soon, and the pretty newscaster smiles at her host as they move on to some other topic: contaminated cabbages from Jeolla-do or something. 

Jimin turns off the television. He drops the remote on the floor and rolls over so that his head is resting on Yoongi's belly. 

"He looks good," he says. 

"Yeah," Yoongi says. "He grew up. Makes me feel fucking old." 

Jimin snorts. "You are old, hyung." 

"Asshole," Yoongi mutters. "Just wait until you turn thirty. I'm going to..." 

"What?" Jimin asks, pertly. 

"Buy you a cake." Yoongi finishes, lamely. 

His recent birthday has been a source of unexpected tension. Nothing changed, but still. 30. That's old.

Three years since they left, and they are back in Korea for the first time. Three years, and they've seen so much: Hội An and Bangkok and Taipei and Istanbul and a whole glorious summer in Europe, taking the train wherever they felt like going. Other places, too. He's seen and done more than he ever dreamed he would. Yoongi feels like he's lived three lives in the last three years, and yet none of that would matter at all if Jimin hadn't been there with him. 

But Jimin was there with him for every moment of him, and Jimin is with him now, and Jimin will be with him for the foreseeable future, provided Yoongi isn't too much of an ass at some point and pisses him off so badly he leaves. 

Yoongi doesn't see that happening. Jimin is stuck with him. 

"It's weird," Jimin says. 

"Hmm?" Yoongi startles from his reverie. 

"Weird being back here," Jimin clarifies. "I feel like... I don't know. It makes me feel like a kid again." 

Yoongi snorts. "Were you ever a kid?" 

Jimin scrunches up his nose. "What's that supposed to mean, hyung?" 

Yoongi shrugs. It's an awkward motion, with Jimin half lying on him. "Just. I don't know. You were some kind of fucking criminal genius when I met you, and you were only twenty-five. When exactly did you have time to be a kid?" 

Jimin rolls off Yoongi and onto the bed, propping his chin up with on hand. "I just I had so much I wanted to achieve. I guess I'm making up for lost time now." 

It's a joke between them, this listless, lazy, happy life they lead. 

A joke, but Yoongi wouldn't give it up for the fucking world. 

"Yeah," he says, "Well, me too." 

Jimin smiles at him and reaches up places a soft hand on Yoongi’s arm, right over the old white scar on his bicep. They have earned whatever peace they have now. More than earned it.

They are both hungry, so Yoongi changes while Jimin showers, and then they head out into the evening. It is warm, and the cherry trees are in flower, and Seoul seems soft and beautiful in a way it never seemed to Yoongi before.

They are only staying three days. Just long enough to see Jungkook debut. 

Even coming back for this long is a risk. 

They're not exactly wanted men or anything, but there are people who would surely like to talk to Jimin, if they knew he was here. There are people who would want to talk to Yoongi, for that matter. 

In the months after they left, they heard very little about what was going on, most of it confused by distance. It didn't matter. They spent those early months under the hot sun, resting and healing and learning each other anew. Jimin's skin turned golden, and even Yoongi got a tan. Lazy mornings in bed, and afternoons on the beach. They bought food from the market and cooked it together. Yoongi didn't have a phone. They didn't go online. They lived a dream that summer. 

The memories are still so bright, so real. 

But in July they got an email with a link to a video. 

Hoseok had made the documentary, using some of his share of the money. Not exactly the true story of Island Boys' brief but notable career, but a compelling piece of filmmaking nevertheless. 

They watched it together in the big bed in Jimin’s friend’s apartment, Yoongi's head on Jimin's shoulder. Hoseok pulled no punches. The kids suffered and cried and strived and _dreamed_. It hurt worse, somehow, watching them go through it all a second time. 

Jimin and Yoongi were strangely absent from Hoseok's documentary. He's no idiot. They were present only off screen, ephemeral, like ghosts. Like they were never part of it at all. 

And maybe they weren't. 

Hoseok's documentary set off a wave of fresh debate about working conditions for minors in the entertainment industry. A congressional inquiry was called. Jungkook and Hyungjoon testified; Hoseok testified as well. The call for regulatory reform reached a fever pitch, and a law was passed protecting the rights of minors, with strict new regulations about contracts and pay and hours worked.

Yoongi is proud of that. Prouder than anything else he's done in his sorry life, even if it was mostly Hoseok’s doing.

They eat at some hole in the wall place, the kind of place they used to take the kids after practice. The food isn't fancy but it is delicious and familiar. They've tried Korean food in cities all over the world and eaten some amazing things, but nothing has ever tasted as comfortable as this. 

Full and content, they walk back to the hotel slowly, through the lamplit streets. The flowering trees hover like shimmering ghosts in the night. Jimin puts his arm around Yoongi's waist. They get some looks, but not too many. 

Things are changing. 

Some things are even getting better. 

It's a wild fucking world. 

Jimin is already up when Yoongi wakes up the next morning. He's sitting at the desk looking at something on his laptop, wearing just the boxer briefs he slept in. His skin is gold and his shoulders are broad and Yoongi still marvels, once in a while, at how beautiful he is.

But mostly that awe has weathered into a steady, familiar love. 

He rolls out of bed and walks over to the desk to stand behind Jimin, sliding a hand over his bare shoulder. "What are you doing?" 

Jimin looks up. He needs to shave. "Hmm? Oh. Looking at tickets. There's a really good deal on a flight to Los Angeles from Shanghai in a few weeks." 

They are leaving tomorrow on a budget carrier for Xian. They can hang around there for a few days, and then make their way over to Shanghai on train. The tickets to Los Angeles are cheap, and they've never been to the States before. Yoongi's not much of a movie buff but it would be fun to see the Hollywood sign.

"Let's do it," Yoongi says. 

Jimin laughs. "Hold your horses," he says. "You've gotten so impetuous lately." He smiles up at Yoongi softly. 

Yoongi shrugs, a little disgruntled. "Yeah," he says. "Well. You always figure everything out, so..." 

Jimin gets all shy and glad at the compliment, the way he always does, even though he must know Yoongi thinks the fucking world of him. 

"I'll track the fare," Jimin says reasonably. "We can buy them next week if it doesn't go up." 

They shower and get dressed and head out into the city. It's such a nice day that they don't even need anywhere to go or anything to do. They wander the streets for a long time, stopping to get a coffee at a quaint cafe, wandering in and out of stores, doing nothing much in particular but enjoying it regardless. 

It’s enough just to be together.

After they get lunch, they take the subway to the Olympic Park. It's only early afternoon – hours yet until the showcase – but the plaza in front of the Gymnastics Arena is full of eager fans. They huddled together in groups of two or three, clutching their copies of Free's debut album, waiting in line to buy merchandise, handing out slogans and banners. 

A tiny girl with a green streak in her hair hands Yoongi and Jimin a banner.

It has Jungkook's face on it next to the slogan 'Let's fly together!'. 

"Thank you," Jimin says, smiling kindly at her. 

She blushes and beams back at them. 

"Damn," Yoongi mutters, after she's left to hand out the rest of her banners. "Jungkook is going to be a star." 

Jimin laughs. "I knew that from the moment I saw him." 

Yoongi frowns at him. "Did you seriously?" 

Jimin shrugs. "I knew he _could_ be." 

Yoongi huffs. "What did you think when you first saw me?" 

Jimin ducks his head. "I've already told you that." 

"I forget," Yoongi lies, diffidently.

"I thought you were very arrogant," Jimin mutters. "And very hot." 

Yoongi tries to hide his smile. "Hmph," he says. "Well you were half right." 

Jimin rolls his eyes. "What did you think of me?" he asks, then. "That day you auditioned." 

"I thought you were going to get in the way of my investigation," Yoongi says honestly. "More than Kwak or Seo, I thought you were going to be a pain the ass." 

Jimin laughs. "Well, you were right too, then," he says, sounding satisfied. 

They wait in the long line that forms at the doors. If the teenaged fans are disconcerted by the two old men in their midst they show no signs. Finally, the line starts crawling forward. They pass through the metal detectors and into the venue. A kind usher shows them to their seats. There is a long and tedious wait during which the same two music videos are shown over and over, intercut with clips of the boys at practice. Namjoon even shows up once or twice, smiling benevolently at his kids. 

"Higher production value than we had," Yoongi whispers to Jimin. 

Jimin laughs. "Yeah," he says. "Well, Namjoon hyung isn't a creepy asshole out to fleece his investors and leave these kids in the lurch." 

"He better not," Yoongi mutters, mostly joking. 

Through back channels and shadow companies, they invested a not inconsiderable amount of their Golden Calf money in Namjoon's new company. He’d gotten in touch with them nine months after they left with this brilliant idea – make the kids partial shareholders, a revolutionary new concept for idol management! He brought Taehyung and Hoseok on board too. It felt like the right thing to do, Yoongi and Jimin both agreed. It seemed like the least they could do, really, after everything Jungkook endured. 

The lights dim, and the cheers reach a fever pitch. Yoongi is weirdly nervous. The video screen goes blank, and billows of dry ice flood in from the wings. Five figures step through the mist.

Yoongi reaches for Jimin's hand. Jimin takes it and smiles at him. 

The music starts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! Thank you so much to everyone who helped me with this, especially [Mintea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintea/pseuds/mintea) <333 Thank you also and above all to everyone who's read along as I've posted this monster. It is by far the longest and most ambitious thing that I've ever attempted, and it makes me so happy to know that people enjoyed it :))) If you have gotten this far, I'd love it if you could comment and let me know what you think <33

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/roebling_writes)!


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